


Helluva Job

by WriteAnon



Series: Achieving Heaven Through Hell [2]
Category: Helluva Boss (Web Series), ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Gen, I promise, another one, this'll be fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:43:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21670537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriteAnon/pseuds/WriteAnon
Summary: Set in the same continuity as A Peaceful Afterlife.La Squadra have resumed business in Hell and quickly became the top of the professional murder racket. But now, they must complete a mission that will test their impressive skills to the limit.Blitzo, sterling boss that his is, gets his team in WAY over their heads.Stay tuned, things are going to get sticky
Relationships: Millie/Moxxie (Helluva Boss)
Series: Achieving Heaven Through Hell [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033401
Comments: 35
Kudos: 86





	1. Professionals

**Author's Note:**

> Just when I think I'm out, they keep pulling me back IN!

Chapter 1: Professionals

Loona sat at her desk, thumbing at her hellphone as the I.M.P. company line rang, harsh and piercing. The hellhound paid it no mind; working where she did, tuning out shrill, irritating sounds was a well-used talent. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a black-gloved hand reach out, seemingly from nowhere, to lift the phone off the receiver, cutting off the ringing, only to set it back down. Loona glanced up from her phone to see a tall, muscular harlequin looming over her, a dour look on his face. His outfit was black leather and gunmetal gray silk, the skin of his face was alabaster with black spindle patterns slashing across his eyes, up his forehead and down his cheeks. He locked her with a ruby-red glare, his pupils glowing pits against the obsidian black of his eyes. The only sound in the room was the unpleasant keening jingle from the mirror-silver bells that hung from the many horns of his cap.

“Hey,” she grunted, cocking an eyebrow. “Did I black out or something? Where did you come from?”

“I’ve been standing here for several minutes.”

Her eyes shifted back to her phone. “Cool.”

“I would like to speak with your boss.”

“Aight.”

The dark jester’s brow furrowed and the phone was yanked from her paws. “Hey!”

The phone hung in the air before crumpling in on itself, thin slivers of metal exuding from it and spelling the word ‘NOW’ in the air.

“Ugh. Show-off,” said Loona, rolling her eyes. “Fine. HEY! BLITZO!”

“What?!” Came the belated reply.

“There’s some twunk-lookin’ clown here to see you!” She turned back to him, noticing his scowl. “What? C’mon. You look like Pennywise and Ronald McDonald had a goth-baby.”

“…Tell me. Have you ever violently expelled razorblades from every orifice on your body?”

Loona blinked, taken aback. “…No?”

“Would you like to?”

Loona felt a tickle in her throat, a strange itching pressure that was fast on its way to becoming a stinging pain.

“Oh! Hey! A new customer!” Blitzo crowed, appearing next to the ominous clown. “I see you’ve met my receptionist. Isn’t she great?

The tall, well-built jester-demon regarded the horned imp for a moment. “You would be Blitzo, correct?”

“Actually it’s Blitzo. The ‘o’ is silen–” Blitzo blinked in surprise. “Oh, nevermind, you got it right. How can I help you?”

“I would like to–”

“Oh! Wow!” Blitzo interrupted, framing the clown’s face with his fingers. “Has anyone told you how handsome you are? Because you are. You look just… like…”

Blitzo’s eyes went wide, mouth hanging open. He turned to Loona, a huge smile on his face, hopping in place as he flapped his hands in excitement. “St. Anger! It’s St. Anger! St. Anger is in my office!”

“Your name is ‘St. Anger’?” Loona snorted.

“Yes. Because ‘Magnetic Death’ seemed a bit on-the-nose,” said St. Anger, turning back to Blitzo as he danced with excitement. “Are you done?”

“Not quite, gimme a second,” said Blitzo, pointing at the towering demon. “St. Anger, Loona!”

“And I should care why?”

Blitzo gasped in shock, shooting St. Anger an apologetic look. “Excuse my silly, ignorant receptionist’s insulting stupidity, sir! Loona! He’s only the leader of the most illustrious, famous, and downright deadly squad of assassins in all of Hell! La Squadra Esecuzioni!”

“Ugh. Is Moxxie gonna have to grab the spunk-mop or do you think you can keep your pants on?”

Blitzo laughed and waved her off, turning back to St. Anger. “Oh-ho-ho you! She has a point though. It’s a good thing I _just_ jacked off, because I’d be throwing up a no-arm salute right now, if you catch my drift! Ha-ha! Oh! Right!” Blitzo extended his right hand to St. Anger. “Allow me to formally introduce myself! I’m Blitzo, owner and leader of the Immediate Murder Professionals! Put ‘er there!”

The dour-faced clown said nothing, ruby eyes flicking down the extended hand.

“Oh, ha! Don’t worry!” Blitzo chuckled and waved at him with his other hand. “I’m left-handed!”

St. Anger’s lip curled in disgust.

Blitzo clapped his hands together and snapped his fingers. “So! What brings you here, sir? Ooh! Sorry, do you like to be called 'sir'? Howsabout pal? Buddy? Brother?”

“...Sir will do.”

Blitzo cocked and eyebrow, studying the sour expression on jester’s face. “Eh? Oh. OH! I gotcha! Say no more. Wink-wink! So, _sir_ , what brings you here? Job offer? Apprenticeship? You wanna bring me into the fold of famous super-assassins? Well, I'm flattered, but I'm gonna have to think on it. I gotta squad of my own here, you see. A botherhood. A _family_. I can't just give that up!”

“What.”

“Okay! You twisted my arm! I'll do it! When works for you? I can pack my things,” he snapped his fingers, “Like that!"

St. Anger turned to Loona. “Is there _anyone_ else I can talk to?”

Blitzo hopped up and put his arm over St. Anger’s shoulders, rubbing his cheek against his. “‘Fraid not! So, how's Wednesday work for you? I gotta rig this place to burn but in a way that seems like an electrical thing. I put A LOT of money down on this place, money I don't have as I'm horrifically in debt, so I need to make it look like an accident.”

St. Anger pushed the clingy imp off of him and sighed. “We want to use your portals to get to earth. We're willing to pay.”

Blitzo blinked in surprise and shook his head. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Now, I dig that you're coming to me for help, I mean, what are friends for, am I right? But, see, I gotta say ‘no’. Really, I'd like to help, but letting another service use our portals? I mean, what would people think? We gotta maintain the appearance of a friendly rivalry to the public, y’know? Keep people thinking IMP and La Squadra Esecuzioni are neck-in-neck rivals so they'll be constantly comparing our highly comparable skills, right? Can't have 'em knowing we're best buds, it'd ruin the illusion!"

St. Anger pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, reaching into his chest pocket and pulling out a checkbook. “Look. I’m going to write a check with a _very large number_ on it. I will give it to you on the condition that La Squadra Esecuzioni is permitted to use your portals... and that you never speak to me again.”

“I’ll have you know that, like you, I’m a professional! I have integrity. Honor! It’ll take more than a few zeroes to bu–” Blitzo said, taking the check, his eyes snapping wide as he read the preposterous sum, “–UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHH…”

St. Anger turned from the entranced, drooling imp to the acerbic hellhound behind the desk. “Is he always like this?”

“This is a good day.”

“Where are those other two? Maybe one of them is sane enough to…” St. Anger turned back to see Millie perched on Blitzo’s shoulder, her eyes wide and sparkling as she harmonized with her boss. “This was a terrible idea.”

“Millie, could you help me in with this?” Moxxie said as he struggled through the door, dragging a bloody burlap sack. “What are you doing? Is that a capella? I thought we were doing a barbershop quartet for the talent show!”

The little imp jumped with a squeak upon seeing St. Anger. “I-is that–?”

“St. Anger,” the towering demon said, arms crossed. “My team and I will be using your company’s portals.”

“S-sounds good,” stammered Moxxie, rivulets of sweat pouring down his face. “Uh… may I ask what for?”

“You may not.”

“Th-that’s fair,” Moxxie whimpered.

“Hey, hey, hey now!” Blitzo interjected, zipping between St. Anger and a hyperventilating Moxxie. “No one’s agreed to anything!”

“Then give me back the check.”

Blitzo regarded the check, eyes dancing over the astonishing line of zeros upon it. “Ugh! Fine! On one condition!”

St. Anger sighed and crossed his arms. “Let’s hear it.”

“You can use our portals to get to earth if,” Blitzo scooped up Millie and Moxie under his arms. “We get to come with you.”

St. Anger’s red-within-black eyes snapped open wide, his stoic demeanor momentarily faltering. “Absolutely not.”

“Too bad,” Blitzo said, plucking the check from the hands of an astonished Moxxie and handing it back to St. Anger. “Here you go.”

St. Anger’s eyes narrowed, a dull keening filled the air. Powerful electromagnetic waves thrummed and the lights flickered, St. Anger held his arms out in front of him, his steel-clad boots leaving the floor as he hung in the air. The bells on his cowl sang their terrible, painful song as they popped off their housings. The light reflecting off their mirror surfaces stung and burned the imp’s eyes; they were made from Seraphic steel. The bells spun in the air, the jingling becoming a shrill, painful cry as the spheres spun faster, and faster, and faster still. The air around them glowed star-hot as the bells spun at near lightspeed, their relativistic effects warping space and time until the immutable, indestructible spheres flattened and elongated into white-blue discs of pure light. Wallpaper browned and wooden furniture smoldered as waves of brutal heat radiated from the eight shrieking bells. 

Moxxie and Millie clutched each other and cowered as Blitzo watched, starry-eyed adulation on his face. “So… cool…”

Loona thumbed through her second hellphone, not even looking at the light display. “S’alright.”

St. Anger levitated towards them, eyes blazing pits of red light as his eight deadly discs thrummed and sang, cutting the air itself. “Perhaps I should just kill you all and take the grimoire, hmm?”

Blitzo scoffed and waved him off. “Angie, Angie, Angie… if that was on the table we’d be dead already! Sorry to hardball you, brother, but if you want IMP’s portals, you gotta take the full package!”

St. Angie glared at Blitzo for a moment, his bells twitching and sparking as they spun at reality-shattering speeds. He sighed and shook his head, the bells ceased their infernal spinning as his plated boots set down on the scorched wood floor.

“You’re not nearly as stupid as you let on, Blitzo,” St. Anger said, offering his hand. “I accept your terms.”

Blitzo pumped his fist and reached out, taking his hand. A shudder of energy passed between them, the contract was sealed.

“Great! So! When do we head out? I still wanna do that ‘accidental’ fire thing.”

“Right now. My team grows impatient.”

Blitzo and the other imps looked around. “Your team is here?”

St. Anger brushed a quartet of of specks off his shoulder. Before their boots even touched the ground, they had expanded in size from motes to demons. Standing to St. Anger’s left was a diminutive mouse-demon, a dryad in a suit, a pale leather-clad demon with blades for fingers, and a blonde-haired torso with a thicket of tentacles where its lower half should be.

“Allow me to introduce Willin’, Truly, Deeply, and Aoxomoxoa.”

The jester-demon shook his head, allowing the light to catch on one of the bells’ mirror surface. A dull keening sounded and four more demons appeared; a raven-demon with dreadlocks, a bright white cat-demon in a cryogenic suit, a demon with a computer-monitor for a head, and a short, roundish anglerfish demon, who promptly collapsed to the ground and vomited.

“Jeez, Good Vibrations!” Aoxomoxoa grumbled. “We’re trying to make an impression here!”

“Sorry, Big Bro…” Good Vibrations muttered. “I just… the spinning… HUUURCK!”

“Yeah, maybe don’t do your killer bells thing when we’re still in them, okay Boss?” The raven-demon said.

“Apologies, Thriller,” St. Anger said, gesturing to each of the demons. “And Blackbird, Playlist, and on the ground is Good Vibrations.”

“Pleased to meet HYYYOUGH!”

Blitzo clapped and giggled, turning to Moxxie. “Can you believe this? La Squadra Esecuzioni is in our office!”

“I can see that, sir,” Moxxie said, eyes darting about at the cabal of deadly assassins. “Having trouble with the ‘believing’ part, though.”

“Oh, lighten up, Moxxie! This is an excellent opportunity for us!” Blitzo draped an arm over Moxxie’s shoulder, pulling him in close as he gestured widely at La Squadra Esecuzioni. “See ‘em in action! Their style! Their modus operandi! Learning from the best!”

“A great opportunity to get killed, maybe!” Moxxie growled, slapping his arm from his shoulder. “And they’re ‘the best’ for a reason, sir! They slaughtered the competition!”

“Right? You can only be the best if the rest dies! See? We’re already learning so much!”

Moxxie attempted to formulate a response, but gave up and rubbed his temples. “Well, we’re in it now, sir. What’s the job?”

“Great question, Mox!” Blitzo turned to St. Anger. “Hey Angie! What are we up to?”

Willin crossed his arms and snickered. “Yeah, ‘Angie’. Tell ‘em what the take is.”

St. Anger’s mouth twisted into a snarl, his eye twitching, before he calmed himself, rubbing his forehead. “We’re going to steal the Saint’s Corpse.”

Moxxie and Millie gasped, their yellow eyes wide with shock, Blitzo laughed and turned back to his stunned cohorts. “Hear that? So cool, right? …What’s the Saint’s Corpse?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The artwork included was done by my good pal DEMOX, they're creating an AU sequel to A Peaceful Afterlife here  
> https://www.deviantart.com/demoxdaguy
> 
> Give them a watch and a subscription!


	2. The Vault

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, I'm still doing this, huh?

Chapter 2: The Vault

Millie watched as the various, frightening demons milled about the IMP headquarters. She was usually on board with Blitzo’s schemes, but this was pushing it. Her and Moxxie had been in the murder game for some time now, and Mox was such a stickler for details and intel that it went without saying that he knew what little there was to know about the enigmatic team. For once, he and Blitzo seemed to be on the same page, or, at least, reading the same book. Only instead of being petrified, as anyone in their right mind would be, Blitzo seemed… starstruck. It was oddly adorable the way he pestered St. Anger and his lieutenants. Or, it would be, if it wasn’t directly endangering their lives.

“Can you believe this?!” Moxxie hissed.

“I know, right?” Millie whispered back. “Look at Blitzo! He’s so happy, dancing around and giggling!”

“Blitzo dances and giggles when he finds new Snapple caps!” Moxxie groused, drawing his fingers down his face in dismay. “What was he thinking?! We coulda just let them use our portals and taken the money! But no! Now we’re tagging along on a god-damned suicide mission!”

“I kinda get it, actually,” said Millie. “This could be our big chance!”

“Chance to get killed, you mean?”

“Moxxie,” said Millie, taking his hand in hers. “All our lives we’ve been bottom of the rungs, mocked and spit on. We’re Imps, Mox, we don’t get to be anything else. But this job, if we pull it off, will show everyone that all imps, not just us, can be a part of something great if given the chance!”

Moxxie a slow smile crept across his face, he took her hand in both of his and kissed her knuckles. “Mils… you’re right. Who cares if we’re attacking literally the most heavily fortified structure on Earth, if I have you at my back, there’s no way I can lose!”

“Win or die, it’s you and I!” Millie chirped, pecking him on the cheek.

A wet sniff drew their attention to the tearful anglerfish-demon standing nearby, hands clasped together, a wondrous smile on his face as tears rolled down his clammy, green cheeks. “I-I’m sorry, it’s just… that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard! I w-wish I had someone who loved me like you two love each other!”

He rushed forward and took their hands in his, pressing them to his forehead, eyes blazing with conviction. “I, Good Vibrations, hereby pledge on my honor and the honor of my team, that I will do everything in my power to see you both through this mission safely!”

Millie smiled and giggled. “Aww!”

Loona thumbed away at her phone when the diminutive mouse-demon hopped up onto her desk, his eyebrow cocked as he ran his talon under his chin. “Sup babe.”

Loona glanced up at him and then looked back down to her phone.

He tapped the phone, immediately shrinking it down to the size of a paperclip. “The name’s Willin… are you?”

“No,” she said, pulling out another phone. “Go be short somewhere else.”

A slight crease formed in Willin’s brow, but his suave smile stayed in place. “Oh-ho? The pup’s got teeth, eh? That’s cool, I like a lady with a bit of snap.”

“Snap your cock off.”

“That a promise?”

“Right here, in front of your friends,” said Loona, snarling. “I’ll make you squeak, rat!”

Willin grinned and winked. “Down, girl!”

Loona opened her mouth to reply when a tongue sprouted from her phone and lapped at her paw. She grunted in disgust and threw the phone away. It clattered across the floor, spitting and sputtering as a blocky, digital face appeared on the screen.

“Ackpth! Ptoo! Ptoo!” The screen-face spat. “Syphilis! Blech!”

“What the fuck?!” Loona roared.

The phone disassembled into a vast assortment of cubes and reassembled itself into the screen-headed demon, Playlist. “That won’t do, that won’t do at all! Oh, what a shame! We could have made _beautiful_ children together…”

“Fucking pervert!” Loona growled reaching out and slamming his flatscreen-face into the desk.

“Nmph…” He grunted, leering up at her with red, square eyes. “Harder, Mommy…”

“UGH!”

Blackbird’s pink eyes danced across the pages of the trashy magazine he was reading. ‘ _Standard lobby fare_ ’, he thought. ‘ _Dry, pointless, inane. Practically designed to generate boredom. A strategy, perhaps? Some nefarious mindgame to make customers anxious to get to the point, to discuss business. A powerplay, starting the customer off on the wrong foot! Could this buffoonish Imp actually be some manner of genius?!_ ’

He glanced over his shoulder to see Blitzo, staring intently, a smitten smile on his face. “Whatcha readin’?”

Blackbird said nothing, simply flicking the magazine cover towards the Imp, that he might read the title.

“Fashion, eh?” Blitzo said, tapping his chin. “Summer edition. You strike me as more of a winter.”

‘ _So much for that theory._ ’ Blackbird turned back to the magazine. “How astute of you.”

A pause passed, the only sound audible the hushed scheming of St. Anger and Truly, his cagey dryad-demon.

“So…” Blitzo said. “Blackbird, huh?”

“That’s right.”

“That’s funny, seeing as how you’re a white cat.” He pointed to Thriller, who was watching Willin's attempts at wooing Loona with undisguised malicious glee. “See, he’s a crow-guy right? You’d think he’d be called Blackbird.”

“GHHRGH!!” Blackbird roared, throwing the magazine to the floor, the frozen paper shattering like glass.

Blitzo flinched away at the outburst.

“Oh, here we go…” sighed Aoxomoxoa, shaking his head.

Blackbird shot to his feet, the air around him sparkling as the humidity instantly froze. “Right?! It’s _ludicrous_! It makes no _fucking_ sense! I’m a white cat! Why is my name _Blackbird_?! Why is his name Thriller?! It’s _stupid!_ _It pisses me off!_ ”

“Blackbird, man, c’mon–” Aoxomoxoa said, stepping forward.

“Shut up!” Blackbird hissed. “Don’t even get me started on _your_ name! What is it, even? What does it mean?! Names are supposed to mean _something_ , yours is just a shitty palindrome! I can’t tell where it starts and where it ends, just like the rest of you!”

Aoxomoxoa looked himself over, a look of genuine hurt in his many, many eyes. “Hey, not cool…”

“And you!” Blackbird said, jabbing a finger at Blitzo. “How can an ‘o’ be silent? It’s a _vowel_! Vowels can only be ‘silent’ when paired with other vowels, and even then they’re contributing to the structure! What the fuck does an orphaned, silent ‘o’ contribute?! I–”

“Blackbird,” said St. Anger. “Enough.”

“But–!”

“You picked the name out of the hat. You have to keep it. Those are the rules.”

Blackbird choked back some vitriol and sat back down, arms crossed. “…Stupid rules…”

“Alright everyone, shut up and gather around,” St. Anger announced. “La Squadra has been hired to retrieve the Saint’s Corpse from the Vault on Earth-1. As you all know, this will not be easy.”

“Ha-ha! Yeah…” Blitzo chuckled, elbowing Aoxomoxoa. “As we all know, right? I totally know what all that stuff meant… but, uh, for the sake of the slowpokes around here, not naming any names–Moxxie–maybe we should, uh, explain what all that stuff you said was.”

St. Anger’s eye twitched and he snapped his fingers, arranging microparticles of iron into a reflective, chromatic image displaying the Vault. “The Vault is one of, if not _the_ most heavily fortified structure in the Multiverse. It is designed to hold objects that are either extremely valuable, powerful, or dangerous. Our target happens to be all three. For eons, demons have been trying to plunder its holds, for just one of these artifacts could upset the balance of power in Hell.”

“And this hasn’t happened yet, so…” Moxxie said.

“Countless raids by countless demons have thrown themselves at the Vault’s defenses. Not one has succeeded. In fact, none have returned. The Vault’s defenses are specifically designed to repel demonic incursion. It’s said that not even Duke Sallos’ armies could take it.”

“But _we_ can?!” Moxxie said, dismayed.

Truly slithered forward on a mass of roots and vines, a pointy, thorny grin on his face. “We have something they did not. We have inside men. Or, rather, a men who had been inside. A priest, an imam, and a rabbi walk into the Vault…” Truly chuckled and waited for the joke to drop; when it didn’t he cleared his throat and continued. “Well, anyway. Holymen from several different religions are called in every generation to re-consecrate the grounds, weapons, and bless the personnel. They like to cover their bases, it seems. Anyway, it turned out that this most recent batch of holymen were, well, not so holy. Don’t ask. They died in various accidents before they all could get re-holied and wound up down here, where we found them.”

Deeply stepped forward, running a tar-black tongue across one of his scissor-like fingers. “We asked them ever-so-nicely to divulge all they knew about the Vault and they magnanimously complied.”

“Really?” Millie said.

“No.”

The image of the Vault shifted and became transparent, showing the sheer scale and complexity of the complex, Truly pointed to a glowing section within the middle perimeter. “From what we’ve learned, I can say with confidence that a sufficiently potent portal spell should get us into this part of the building, beyond that and the consecrations, blessings, wardings and such all overlap too much to breach. Our first step, and we’ll already be further inside than any demon in history! From there we just have to… bypass the far more impressive and deadly inner confines.”

“I love this plan!” Blitzo exclaimed, punching Blackbird on the shoulder. “I’m excited to be a part of it!”

“I’d suspect sarcasm, but I doubt you have the mental capacity,” Blackbird sneered.

“Our advantages are our knowledge of the layout, our abilities, and the element of surprise.” St. Anger gestured to the image. “Without a breach to prompt them, the defenses will be down, or at the very least, not actively mobilized. For those of you in I.M.P. a brief run-down of our skills will be in order. I–”

“Oh, we know all about your abilities,” Moxxie grumbled. “Those parameter charts are so inaccurate…”

“Oh, yeah!” said Blitzo, holding a set of cards in his hands. “I have all your trading cards! They have your powers and stats! … _I read them every day!_ ”

“Ha! See?” Willin chuckled, pointing to Thriller. “And you said trading cards was a stupid idea!”

“It _is_ a stupid idea.” Thriller jabbed a thumb at Blitzo. “Only idiots bought them.”

“Wait,” Loona said, examining Willin’s card. “You can change the size of objects and you’re _still_ short?”

Willin’s eye twitched as Thriller cackled. “Oh-ho-ho-ho~!”

“ _Daaaamn_!” Playlist broke in.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Moxxie piped up, waving his arms. “You said the grounds are consecrated? Warded, even? Even if we open a portal through all that, won’t there be sensors and alarms going off the second we set foot in there?”

Truly tapped a vine-like finger to his non-existent nose. “Luckily for us, there’s a deadzone in the anti-demonic defenses. A maintenance closet and the hallway outside it.”

“How could you possibly know this?”

“Because one of the holymen and one of the prettier guards _deconsecrated_ the grounds inside that closet.” Truly chuckled, examining his thorny talons. “When I said ‘not-so-holy’, I meant it.”

“Alright, since everyone’s up to speed, here’s the plan…”

* * *

  
From outside, the building seemed mundane, forgettable even. A standard, beige rectangular warehouse of which there were dozens, if not scores, of in any given town. But below were endless corridors of glittering, polished steel and grey concrete walls replete with ancient runes, sigils, and wards, all topped off with top-of-the-line security technology. Guards marched the halls, the shift change was upon them. The guard strolled past the maintenance closet, stopping in his tracks when a thud sounded from inside. He cocked his head and waited a moment, listening.

Another thud, the muted clatter of janitorial supplies being jostled.

“God damnit,” he grumbled, it was too close to quitting time for this shit. “If you dipshits are fucking in the closet again, I swear…”

Empty. It was empty. A mop stood askew, leaning upon a dingy shelf. “Huh.”

It was his duty to report any and all irregularities, but did this really count? He was due for shift-change in five minutes after a ten-hour patrol, he had long since used up all his free fucks to give for the day. It’d be just a few more minutes and he’d be off to go get yelled at by his bitch wife.

“Whatever.”

The guard continued on his way, blinking and rubbing his eye; it felt like he just now got something in it. Itching notwithstanding, he placed his right thumb on the pad next to the door, his left eye on the scanner as his left hand typed in the fourteen-digit code he’d memorized that morning. The locks within clunked and whirred and the door slid open with a hiss. He passed his replacements, giving them a curt nod before moving on. He had fifteen minutes to get past the the inner sanctum’s security systems and back out again to the main office. If he didn’t, his security code would still be in the mainframe when the new shift started their rounds, locking them out. He hurried along. Even though it would take Control maybe five minutes to reset the system, they would know exactly who it was who bricked the whole thing, and his chops would get busted but good.

Two more security checks and he was in the main locker room. He started to remove his uniform when the itching in his eye intensified, becoming a sharp sting.

“Ahh… shit,” He grunted, rubbing his eye. “Fuckin’ eyelash…”

He opened his locker and looked into the small mirror there, peeling back his eyelid as he examined his eye. Running along the crease of his cheek and clambering up and down his eyelashes were… tiny people?

“What the…”

Something moved in the mirror, a dark figure appeared behind him. He spun around, eyes wide: no one, just his coworkers as they milled about, getting ready to leave, just like him.

“Huh.”

He turned back to see his smiling reflection. Only, it wasn’t him. It looked like him, whatever it was, but it wasn’t. There was something horribly and terribly wrong about the glint in its dead shark-eyes and the malicious leer on its face. It held up its hand and, in a flash of purple energy, his wedding band appeared on its finger. He looked down at his own hand, horrified to see that his ring was gone. It cackled soundlessly and snapped its fingers, the guard felt a strange feeling, like he was a card that had been flipped. He watched as the thing in the mirror stepped back, adjusting its suit and picking at its teeth. It was then that he realized how quiet the locker room had gotten. He looked around for his coworkers.

The room was empty.

He snapped back to the mirror, eyes bulging with horror as he saw his fellow guards and facility staff milling about in the background, behind that thing that looked like him. It winked and grinned before it reached up and slammed the locker shut, causing the mirror to go pitch black.

The guard’s screams echoed in the empty locker room, heard by no one.

* * *

  
“Huh,” Blitzo grunted, sitting in craggy crevice that were the guard’s crow’s feet. “He can possess people too? That wasn’t on his trading card.”

“We all picked up some new tricks in Hell,” Willin said, hanging from an eyelash the size of a small tree. “If Thriller can pull a personal object through into the mirror world, he can pull their soul in with it and take their body. Handy-dandy.”

“Honestly, it’s something he enjoys _way_ too much,” Aoxomoxoa said. “Like, I get that we’re demons, but he can be a real prick about it.”

“Alright everyone!” St. Anger said to the assembled demons on the possessed man’s cheek. “Truly says we have between five and ten minutes to get as far as we can inside on this guard’s security passes. Once they’ve expired, that’s the end of our free ride, from there it’s on us. Everyone know what they have to do?”

Aoxomoxoa, Willin, and Blitzo rendered a salute. “Yes sir!”

“Good,” St. Anger said, a phantasmal smirk on his face. “Let’s begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strap in, kids! It's about to get sticky!


	3. Guards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYYYY IT'S BACK
> 
> Sorry about the delay, it's been a busy holiday season.

Chapter 3: Guards

  
Moxxie sighed and shifted uncomfortably, pressed up against the rest of the demons in the cramped closet. He’d nearly had a panic attack when the guard swung the door open, eyes darting about. It was then than he remembered that St. Anger apparently had the ability to bend light using perfectly reflective iron particles, allowing him to render himself and anything within his radius invisible. It was at times like this the Imp felt the most resentful of his lot in life, born a diminutive hellspawn while sinners and demons got all the cool powers!

“Hey, Good Vibrations,” Deeply whispered. “Check to see if the coast is clear.”

Good Vibrations nodded, a hook appearing from the dangling angler sprouting from his forehead. The timid anglerfish flinched and squeaked when the hook swung back and poked his eye.  
Moxxie snickered, feeling a little better now.

Good Vibrations flicked his neck and the hook launched forward on a glowing twine of energy, phasing into the solid wall like it was water. The line rolled out as the hook traveled, Good Vibrations’ brow furrowed as he concentrated. “One guard… healthy, athletic. Heartbeat 67bpm, blood-pressure 120/80… wait… vitals just spiked.”

“Think you can get the hook out without him seeing it?”

“What’s going on?” Millie whispered.

“I dunno.” Moxxie regarded the ridiculous-looking demon. “His card just says he has a hook, it didn’t say anything about this stuff.”

“There’s only so much room on a trading card! Besides, what kind of idiot would list all their powers on such a thing?” Blackbird sneered. “Because of our new demonic bodies, we developed new powers to compliment our original ones. Good Vibrations’ angler is a sensitive sensory organ, he can detect the vibrations of a heartbeat and the pressure of blood in the veins from within the walls. Once exposed to air, he might as well be able to see the target!”

“Hold on…” Good Vibrations paused and smiled. “There! He’s about 22 meters south of here, far end of the hall. Stress hormones have skyrocketed. He’s frustrated about something. I feel keys typing. Incorrect code. He’s swearing. He had Indian food approximately 14 hours ago, the cook was a touch overzealous with the turmeric.”

“Locked out, just like Truly said,” Deeply chuckled. “Good Vibrations, bring him here. This is our chance.”

“On it.”

* * *

  
The guard growled and punched the doorframe. “Son-of-a-bitch! Those fuckin’ alkies’re probably passed out in the locker-room!”

This wasn’t the first time day-shift had fucked things over for them, for the organization. Now he and every other member of nightshift was locked out of their patrols until HQ got off their asses and manually reset the whole security system. There’d be Hell to pay for this, and no mistake.

He reached down to grab his communicator when he felt a sharp sensation at his collarbone. Not quite painful, more like a hard pinch or a sudden itch. Irrationally, the first thing that crossed his mind was ‘a bug bite, wasp or something’ despite being several hundred feet underground. He reached up and swatted at his collar, pausing when he felt it: string? Twine? He looked down to see a small line of magenta twine sticking out of his shoulder.

Closer inspection revealed that it shone, like it was covered in a thin film of mucus, and had what appeared to be livid little capillaries through it. His mind didn’t have time to even process the implications of this when the line snapped taught, hauling him backward by the collarbone. He screamed in pain and alarm as he skidded over the shiny linoleum, boots squeaking as they kicked and dug in a vain attempt to stop himself.

He came to a stop outside the janitor’s closet and the door swung open, a figure some seven feet tall, its body haphazardly wrapped in shiny black leather straps, its white corpse-flesh sneaking through in pallid bands. It’s face was a pale horror of scar tissue and fangs peering out from the thicket of wiry black hair, its orange-within-red eyes glowing with hateful glee. It reached down and plucked him off the ground, hauling him inside the closet, pinning him against the wall, now surrounded by half-a-dozen other creatures.

‘ _Demons!_ ’ He thought, frantically. ‘ _Gotta get my gun! Cold iron bullets, holy-water cores, they’ll kill ‘em!_ ’

He moved to draw his service pistol when the leather-strapped freak slashed at him with its long, pruning-shear talons. He felt the blades glide through his flesh, painless and cold. Next he felt what could only be described as parting. Flesh, bones, organs, thoughts, feelings, all divided from one another and split apart. He slumped to the floor, body splitting open across countless seams, separated into myriad paper-thin strips, splaying open across the floor like a dropped book.

Two of the cursed beasts recoiled in horror while the others looked on with dry interest, as though impatient. The frazzled, Tim-Burton Cenobite reached down and, with two scissor-like fingers, plucked one of the ‘pages’ from his body. The thin, profile-shape crumpled up into a glowing ball of light. The demon clenched his fist and snuffed the little ball, his body rippling and changing until, to his horror, the monster ceased to be. Standing before him was himself, grinning triumphantly.

He wanted to scream, he needed to scream.

His mouth hung open across the splayed pages of his body; he was silent.

* * *

  
“Whoa!” Millie exclaimed, poking Deeply’s newly-human cheek. “Where’d ya learn to do that?”

“I didn’t learn it at all,” Deeply said, voice low and flat. “It comes naturally to me, like other curious things…”

“Oh, would you can the ‘Mysterious Stranger’ routine?!” Blackbird snapped. “It’s his power! He can divide anything into its most basic elements and then extract and use them. Items, organs, chemicals, elements, even non-materials like thoughts and memories! Just now, he extracted the abstract concept of guard’s appearance and applied it to himself.”

“C’mon Blackbird, let me have a little fun!” Deeply groused.

“Combined with Truly’s divination, they were and still are our primary intelligence network!”

“Cool!” Millie cheered, turning to Moxxie. “Isn’t that cool, darlin’?”

“More like horrifying!” Moxxie’s lip curled as he regarded the blurry, sensory paradox that used to be the guard. “What am I even looking at here?!”

“Well, I took his ‘appearance’,” Deeply said, matter-of-fact. “Stands to reason that he won’t have one after I take it!”

“Big Bro always says it’s like if reality had a broken .jpg,” said Good Vibrations said, booting the blurry mess.

“Alright, shut up, all of you!” Blackbird hissed, turning to Deeply. “Have you taken everything you need from him?”

“I have. Here,” he held out his hand, a shimmering ball of energy in his palm. “All of you touch this. It’s his right thumb, left eye, and the memory of his access code. Once the system resets, these should give us access to the inner sanctum. From there, we follow the plan.”

“What plan?!” Moxxie shouted, waving his arms about.

“Don’t worry about it,” Deeply cooed, holding out his hand. “C’mere, Imp. Touch this.”

Moxxie tried to articulate a response when he saw Millie fearlessly step forward and touch the orb along with the rest of them. She glanced at him over her shoulder and beckoned him over. Moxxie sighed and shuffled forward, laying a hand over the orb and flinching when a string of numbers and symbols surged into his mind, a tingling electric burn flared in his left eye and right thumb.

“There,” Deeply said. “Just let the fragments do as they do, don’t resist them.” 

“Enough baby-sitting!” Blackbird barked, turning to Playlist. “Get ’em ready. We’re heading out.”

Playlist chuckled and nodded, turning to Moxxie and Millie. “Right, who here likes guns?”

* * *

A group of guards clustered in the hallway, trapped by their inactive codes.

“Man, dayshift really screwed the pooch this time, huh?”

“Fuckin’ hell! I bet it was Georgie,” said a red-haired guard.

“I swear, this one time I walked by him and he smelled like a ‘shine-still on legs!”

“How do you do, fellow guards?” Came a voice.

They turned around to see a tallish man grinning at them, the smile never quite reaching his eyes, rolling alongside him was a mop and wheeled bucket.

“Jordon?” The red-haired guard said. “How’d you get here?” ‘Jordon’ jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, still smiling. “The door?”

“Wait, so your code works? They reset the system?” Another guard said, hopefully. “That was fast.”

“Must have.” Jordan said, grinning toothily, eyes glinting.

Unnerved by his odd mannerisms, the quartet of guards set off down the hallway, only for him to follow after. “Hold on! I want to show you guys something.”

“What?” Said the red-haired guard, glancing at his friends. “Another one of your magic tricks?”  
His smile only widened. “Something like that.”

“Okay, whatever,” he shrugged, stepping froward. “We ain’t using any of my stuff for it. I still haven’t that watch back after you made it disappear.”

Jordan plucked his hat off his head and cast it to the floor, where it settled with a quiet ‘plop’. The hat disassembled into hundreds of tiny cubes which bustled about, reforming into a short red female hellspawn.

“What the–?!” 

The guards all reached for their sidearms, but the little Imp was too quick; she reached out and drew Jordan’s pistol with one hand, pulling out her own with the other. “Ah-ah-ah boys! Hands where we can see ‘em!”

Jordan pulled off his coat and threw it to the floor and it, too, reassembled itself into another creature, a bulky greenish anglerfish demon. He swung his head and a long pink tendril extended from his forehead, wrapping around the quartet of guards, binding them together. The mop and bucket also reformed into a white cat-shaped demon and a creature that appeared to have an old computer screen for a head. The gun in the little Impess’ hands burst apart and reformed into another, far more confused-looking red Imp.

“I was a gun…” the male Imp mumbled, eyes wide.

“I’ve never been more attracted to you!” The little female Imp whispered, grinning.

“Jordan, what the fuck!” One guard screamed. “You teamed up with a bunch of demons?!”

“Not quite,” ‘Jordan’ sneered, snapping his fingers, revealing his true form. “Playlist, do your thing.”

The screen-faced demon examined the assembled meat, eyes glowing as he ran his tongue along his screen-face. “ _Di Molto…_ ”

* * *

The husk made its way through the hallways, a pair of dark sunglasses over his glossy black eyes. He managed to avoid detection by smiling and nodding at passersby, tilting his cap but sweat began to form his brow; it wouldn’t be long before his passcode was purged from the system, then it was up to the others to keep the heat off their backs.

A voice rang out. “Georgie!”

The husk paused, gritting his teeth and looked down to the nametag, it read ‘G. Renton’.

Shit.

“Hey Georgie!” The voice was getting closer. “Whatcha doin’ down here? Isn’t your shift over?”

The husk turned to face the approaching guard, a strained smile on his face. “Yeah…” 

The approaching guard’s tag read ‘R. Reynolds’, a winsome smile plastered on his chiseled face.

“…Deadpool.” A wave of relief washed over him as ‘Deadpool’ reacted to his nickname with a resigned sort of amusement. “I’m just… looking for my wallet. I must have dropped it somewhere. Re-tracing my steps, yeah?”

‘Deadpool’ rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Georgie, man, c’mon! The whole system’s backed up now! Get your ass to the main office right now, and maybe you’ll have a job tomorrow!”

“But, my wallet–”

“I’ll keep a lookout for it!” Deadpool said, grabbing the husk by the shoulder. “Might not even grab a finder’s fee if you head out right-fuckin’-now!”

The husk looked down at the floor, seeing the mirror finish under Deadpool’s feet, a nigh-frictionless sheen of iron particles, and grinned. “Whatever you say, Green Lantern.”

Deadpool’s eye twitched at the insulting reference, wagging a finger at the husk. “Hey, now. I’m doing you a solid here, so don’t push it!”

“Push it? Great idea!”

The husk gave the guard a hard push while simultaneously sweeping his legs out on the ice-slick patch of iron. Deadpool grunted in surprised before his head bounced off the hard tile floor, knocking him senseless.

The husk sneered down at the unconscious guard. “You’re lucky I’m in a hurry, Van Wilder. (Ahem!) Hey! Heeeey! We gotta man down over here!”

Two more guards rounded the corner and rushed over.

“I found him like this,” the husk said. “I think he slipped. He’s breathing, but he needs medical attention, hurry!”

They nodded and set about stabilizing his head and neck, the other checked his vitals, the husk winked to the tiny figure on his cheek as he pulled out his radio. “Medic! We need a medic in section seven, corridor three. Over. …Copy? Hello? Hey, guys, are your radios working?”

The two looked up and tried repeating the summons into their radios, only to be met with static.

The husk sighed and set off down the hall. “Great equipment we got here, huh? Look, you two keep and eye on him and I’ll go get help, okay?”

They nodded and maintained their watch over the limp guard, the husk grinned as he turned around and bolted down the hallway, deeper into the facility.

* * *

  
“Jeeze, that was close!” Willin’ huffed, wiping his brow. “I thought for sure we’d have to kill that guy!”

“What a waste of time!” St. Anger seethed. “But we have to keep a low profile.”

They lurched to a stop, a door the size of a mountain rumbled like a volcano as it rolled open. A hurricane blast of cold, compressed air rolled over them, the shrunken demons just barely clinging to the flesh and fabric of the human husk.

“Getting real tired of being tiny!” Aoxomoxoa groused, dangling from a short stub of shaved whisker.

“Welcome to my world!” Willin’ shouted back.

“Guess where I’ve been!” Blitzo cheered, holding up a pubic louse the size of a shiba-inu.

Willin’ screamed in terror as a pack of the parasites scurried after him.

“Hey, St. Anger,” Aoxomoxoa whispered. “Why _didn’t_ we kill this dipshit and take the grimoire, anyway?”

“Because,” St. Anger sighed, massaging his temples. “The grimoire belongs to Prince Stolas, and this fool is borrowing it. Therefore, stealing it from him would be stealing from the Prince.”

Aoxomoxoa’s multitude eyes snapped open wide. “Oh. Yeah, that’s a pretty good reason.”

“Um, ex- _cuse_ you, Brother!” Blitzo interjected, pubic louse cooing as it crawled over him. “I stole that grimoire! I infiltrated Stolas’ mansion, like a shadow at midnight, and made off with his most prized possession!”

“Word has it you infiltrated a couple of his other things, too.” St. Anger scoffed, crossing his arms. “He gave you that grimoire, Blitzo. Credit where it’s due, you must have shown him quite a time for him to allow you to keep it.”

Blitzo chuckled nervously and waved him off, rubbing his arm. “Whaaat? Nooo! It’s, uh, that’s…”

“Who does everyone go to to travel to Earth?”

“Stolas! I mean, it’s how made his money!”

“That’s right. Now tell me, Blitzo, who hires you the most?”

“…Stolas?”

“So, it stands to reason that he knows you can get to Earth, yes?”

“Yeah…?”

“Therefore he _knows_ you have one of his grimoires, therefore he’s _allowing_ you to have it, therefore you’re _borrowing_ it.”

“…Right.”

The security access console at the door sounded a shrill rejection buzz, splitting the air in a tooth-rattling roar to the tiny demons. St. Anger grit his teeth and hissed. “Shit. The system’s been reset. I was hoping to get a bit deeper into the compound. Can’t be helped. Willin’! Re-size us now!”

The rat-demon booted a louse away from him and nodded. “You got it, Boss!”

Air rushed about them as they rapidly increased in dimensions, the sounds and lights of the hallway becoming less and less punishing to their senses. They stood in a semi-circle around the husk and examined their surroundings.

“Alright, what do we do now?” Blitzo said, rubbernecking down both sides of the hallway. “Aren’t we a little exposed out here?”

“This husk will only draw attention to us. Thriller, get out of there.”

The husk and slack and collapsed to the ground, Thriller stepping out of the glazed, reflective surface of its eyes. Willin’ stepped forward and tapped the husk with his talon, shrinking it down to infinitesimal size.

“Now, I need only make us invisible until the others give us the signal,” said St. Anger. “Then, when the security is distracted, we’ll force our way into–”

Another guard turned the corner and screamed in alarm. “Dear god! Demons!”

“You guys really need to stop saying stuff instead of doing stuff,” said Blitzo, gesturing at the interloper.

The guard moved pull the wall-mounted alarm, stopping when he felt a tugging at his pant-leg. He looked down to see the pale, scaly body of a dog-sized pubic louse crawling up his leg. The guard screamed shrilly as the parasite sunk its fangs into his flesh, sucking his blood. Six more of the vermin scuttled forth and tackled the guard to the ground, latching on and gorging themselves on the terrified man’s vital essence. His screams wound down to gurgles and soon all that could be heard was the vile gulping of the lice.

“Oh my God…” Blitzo whispered, eyes wide and glimmering as a huge smile spread across his face. “They protected me! My babies!”

“I didn’t know you could make things bigger, Willin’,” Aoxomoxoa said, confounded.

“Neither did I!” Willin’ rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging. “I just thought I could, y’know, make stuff smaller faster. Though, to be fair, I never would have thought to make my crabs bigger, they feel huge enough as it is, thank you!”

“Besides,” Thriller chuckled, booting one of the smaller crabs as it scurried by. “We already have a parasite-wrangler on our team. We don’t need another!”

“Speaking of Playlist, where’s our diversion?” Aoxomoxoa said. “We can’t get deeper into the compound with all these guards around!”

“You know how picky he is about his surrogates,” said St. Anger as he bent the light around them and the crabs. “For now, we wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ocean's 11 would have been so much more fun if George Clooney could pull the iron right out of people's blood.


	4. Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait, folks! Stuff happened, so please take this extra-strength, extra-long chapter as penance.

Chapter 4: Distraction

"Too fat! Too ugly! Is that a birthmark or a mole? Pass! Too… ginger." Playlist muttered, strolling by the bound and gagged guards, throwing his arms up in disgust. "No no no! These porksides will not do! Not at all!"

"Playlist, just, ugh, knock 'em up and get on with it!" Deeply sighed, foot tapping. "We need to draw attention away from the interior!"

"The Juniors from this lot will be willful, disobedient, cowardly, and ginger!" Playlist moaned. "I simply must have better stock!"

He spun around and pointed. "Them. They will do."

All heads turned to the Millie and Moxxie; Moxxie glanced over his should before pointing at himself. "…Who? Us?"

Playlist ran a talon under Millie's chin, screenface alight with a grinning leer. "Perfect proportions, ebullient demeanor, tact, wit, and courage, but also fierce and strong! You will make a _beautiful_ mother!"

Millie laughed nervously, not entirely sure what to make of his compliments, but quite sure his intentions were malicious.

Moxxie stepped in and swatted Playlist's hand away. "Hands off my wife, you creep!"

Playlist redoubled, looming over the smaller Imps. "And you! Serious, skilled, conscientious, and above all loyal! The twenty or so children I could spawn from you two would be worth a hundred of the purulence I would wring from these cattle! It'll be easier if you just… _let this happen!_ "

"Playlist." A low, commanding voice resounded through the hall, the words heavy with conviction and authority. " ** _No._** "

Good Vibrations stepped forward, his face set and his gaze withering, hands balled into fists, impressively muscled arms taut and defined. Playlist scoffed and moved to brush him off when the squat anglerfish demon summoned his hook and shifted into a fighting stance. Playlist's expression shifted from confusion to shock and then, slowly, to terror.

The taller demon's screen flickered and dimmed as he backed away from the Imps, his hands placating and him motions careful.

"W-well!" Playlist said, walking over to the guards and extending his hand. "I guess you'll have to do."

The screen-demon's fingers elongated into revolting tendrils tipped with spurs, the bound and gagged guards wriggled, their terrified screams muffled. Playlist grinned and advanced on them, drool dripped from his flat face. "Never let it be said that I don't enjoy my work!"

The screams and wretched gurgles of the guards filled the air. Deeply turned to Good Vibrations, who was ineptly shielding the Imps fro the ghastly sight.

"GV, what was that all about?"

"Their boss shook our boss's hand, that makes them our teammates!" Good Vibrations said, his voice closer to his usual tone, but still resolute. "We don't do that to our teammates!"

"Dear God!" Moxxie cried. "What is he doing to them?!"

Deeply scoffed and ran a bladed talon down the back of Millie's neck. "Not like they're doing anything here. Playlist knows his stuff, and we coulda used the extra Juniors."

Good Vibrations swatted his hand away from her and glared up at him. "We. Don't. Use our teammates. As breeding stock!"

"What's he–?! Oh no! That–that's horrible!" Moxxie gurgled, clapping a hand over his mouth. "I think I'm gonna puke!"

Deeply did not back down and flexed his claws, grinning. "Maybe I should open you up and pull out that new backbone you decided to grow!"

"Now they're expanding like rising dough! I can see… things writhing arounds inside them!" Moxxie pressed his hands over his eyes, peering through his fingers. "They're still alive somehow! I can only imagine the agony!"

"Just try it, scissor-hands!" Good Vibrations growled, summoning his hook.

"Enough!" Blackbird roared, effortlessly throwing them to opposite sides of the hall. "Good Vibrations is right. We're professionals. The handshake is binding, so the Imps are part of the team. Besides, we don't need good Juniors, just a lot of them. This is a distraction! All we need is a mess!"

A quartet of wet, fleshy pops sent a splash of blood and viscera splattering across Blackbird's pristine cryosuit, freezing solid the second it touched him. " _ **FUCKING–!**_ "

Millie pat Moxxie's back as he stooped over a puddle of vomit in the corner, spitting stringy bile-flavored gunk from his mouth. "I hate demons…"

Millie walked over to the newly hatched Juniors, forty gray maggot-like infants wriggling about in the soup-like remains of their hosts, devouring it voraciously, her eyes huge and gleaming. "They're so… cute~!"

She picked several of the writhing creatures up, they squawked and bleated, outraged they had been pulled away from their meal. "Look, Moxxie, they're like little babies! I'm gonna call this one Samael! Oh! This one's Micheal! And li'l Gabriel here is such a trooper! Yes, he is! Yes, he is!"

"Millie, put those down!" Moxxie exclaimed. "You don't know where they've been!"

"Sure I do! They were just inside a guy, duh!"

Blackbird stepped forward, arms crossed. "In life, Playlist could gestate a secondary stand inside a female host. Since going to Hell, he can now implant ten parasitic offspring inside any host regardless of gender, like the glomerata wasps of the genus cotesia."

"I didn't ask," Moxxie grumbled. "What's a 'stand'?"

"Look, Moxx!" Millie said, holding out one of the grubs. "Gabriel likes you!"

"Da-duh," the yellow-eyed maggot gurgled, smiling with silver, serrated teeth.

Moxxie slowly took the grub from her and cradled it in his arms, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Heh… they are kinda cute. In a gross, slimy maggot sort of way."

Baby Gabriel lunged forward and bit Moxxie's finger, causing him to loose a high, reedy scream.

"Put them back in the offal!" Playlist barked, slapping the grubs out of their arms. "They need to eat if they're going to grow!"

"My babies!"

"How, exactly, are these things going to help us?" Moxxie said, watching as the multitude of maggots ravenously devoured the guard's remains. "Make all the guards choke on their own terror-vomit?"

"That's one way, yes," Playlist said. "But, more likely we're going to have the Juniors tear them limb from limb and devour their remains."

"But they're just little worms! How are they supposed to–?"

The grubs stopped eating, their wriggling ceased, eyes bugged and staring. They pulsated and throbbed, retching and gurgling horrifically. The demonic maggots vomited wads of bundled silk on one-another, the silvery strands bursting forth and encapsulating their slimy bodies until they were completely cocooned.

"Can these things go five seconds without doing something utterly repulsive?!" Moxxie screamed, gesturing at the pulsating, inflating silk capsules.

Playlist grinned. "Three… two… one…"

Numerous bundles of spikes burst through the straining sides of the capsules, bursting them open in a splash of grey-green sludge. Moxxie froze in horror as the warm goo coated him to the waist, a horrified, outraged squeak building in his throat.

The slime slid off Playlist like water off a duck's back as he knit his fingers together, canting his head to the side. "Ahh… they grow up so fast!"

"What are… you… uhh…" Moxxie said, his eyes wide as a shadow crept over him.

The demon towering over him was covered in a carapace of gunmetal grey armor, it's yellow, striated eyes glowing from its round, noseless face, mouth pulled into a grimace bearing serrated, golden teeth, atop its head a thicket copper-red spikes.

Its mouth pulled into a smile, its voice deep and reverberating. "Daddy."

"Gabriel?"

"Alright, you lot!" Playlist barked, his tone not unlike a drill sergeant. "Form up for debriefing!"

"Derr, but we we ain't wearin' any briefs, Boss!" one of the homunculi said, scratching his head.

Playlist turned to glare at Blackbird, glancing meaningfully over at Millie and Moxxie.

"They'll do!" Blackbird snarled.

Playlist turned back to them and sighed, rubbing his temples. "Right, well… screw this! You're all shipped into remedial class! All of you, arm yourselves!"

The Juniors obediently touched the floors and walls, pulling from them masses of cubes that re-assembled into all manner of guns, knives, and bludgeons.

"Form up!"

The Juniors instinctively lined up in two rows of twenty and stood at attention, Playlist walked up and down the lines, glowering at the sorry lot.

"Suck in that gut! Close your mouth! You… watching you…" Playlist stopped and turned to face the opposite wall, smacking the side of his head. His face lit up and projected an image onto the far wall, showing the schematics of the Vault. "Alright, listen up, maggots! Here's your education: do as your commanders say and kill everything that isn't a demon or Imp. Thus concludes your comprehensive education. Any questions?"

One of the Juniors raised his hand. "Why is the sky blue?"

Playlist clapped his hand to his face and sighed, gesturing to Blackbird. "If you would take the stage, Blackbird?"

Blackbird marched out in front of the assembled demonic homunculi, a sneer on his swirling gaseous face behind his faceplate. "Alright, listen up. We will be splitting up into four teams. Ten Juniors a squad. Our objective is sew destruction and mayhem as to draw their security forces to us and away from the team in the inner sanctum. When we've triggered a lockdown and drawn away their security forces, we will get into contact with the inner party and confer to them our updated access codes, allowing them to reach our objective. Once this is done, our mission is simple: cause as much destruction as possible and try not to die. Any questions?"

A Junior raised his hand. "Derr… why are yous called 'Blackbird' when yous a white cat?"

Blackbird blasted the curious Junior with a jet of cryogenic gas, freezing him solid in an instant. "Any more questions?"

Another Junior raised his hand, lowering it as his frozen compatriot shattered into a thousand pieces.

"Good." Blackbird turned to Deeply and Playlist. "My squad and I will head out first to disable the outer security systems. On my signal, Deeply will take ten Juniors and barricade the main elevator, I want as few of their outside forces to get in as possible. Playlist, you and your group are to set up fortifications in the primary hallway. Good Vibrations, you stay here with your force and guard our exit. Oh… and since you're so fond of babysitting, you get the Imps as well. Understood?"

"Y-you got it!" Stammered Good Vibrations.

"Babysitting?!"

With that, Blackbird tapped his heels together, a pair of glinting ice skates popping out from his soles. "Blackbirds! Move out!"

He took off down the hall at breakneck speeds on a self-generating sheet of ice, the Juniors assembled their own skates from surrounding matter and took off after him.

"What the fuck is even going on?" Moxxie groaned, rubbing his temples.

"Don't worry about it," Deeply said, smirking. "It just works."

"No, it doesn't!" Moxxie screamed, gesturing at the small army surrounding them. "You can open people up like books and plagiarize their everything, that guy has a fishing hook growing out of his face, I got turned into a gun and my wife got turned into a _hat_ , and you just expect me to say 'whatevs! I'mma roll with it!'?!"

Deeply pondered this for a moment, tapping his chin with a blade-like talon before nodding. "Yep, pretty much! Trust me, it's easier that way."

"That's bullshit," Millie chimed in, cleaning her pistols. "But I believe it."

"BUT–!"

A talon tapped his lips, silencing him; Deeply merely smiled and said: "Look. You can scream and whine about how none of this makes any sense, or you can untuck it and harden the fuck up because we're about to be up to our tits in armed guards."

Moxxie inhaled to retort before relenting. "Well… at least that makes sense. So, what's Blackbird's signal going to be?"

"Well, he's going to access the primary water pump and freeze every pipe in this building solid."

"Why?"

"Every drop of water in here is from a single reservoir that has been blessed by all kinds of godly types. At will, these mortals could just set off the fire sprinkler system and turn us all into soup."

Moxxie's eye's went wide. "Oh… well, what's his signal going to be?"

"A base-8 code, perhaps? Maybe morse code played over the intercom…"

A low, creaking groan sounded throughout the hallway, it came from all around, the sound of straining metal and buckling brackets. Moxxie flinched as huge spires of ice burst from the ceiling and walls throughout the hallway with a sharp, cannon-like report. Similar cracks and explosions resonated from all over the facility as thousands of cubic meters of water froze instantly and exploded outward. Red alert lights flashed as klaxons roared.

"Honestly, it could be anything."

"Smartass…" Moxxie grumbled.

"Right, that's us, then," Deeply said, clapping his hands together to rouse his Juniors to action before turning to Good Vibrations. "Vibes, get the new codes to the Boss and hold down the fort. We're gonna have to make a speedy exit, I think."

Good Vibrations summoned his hook and cast it into the wall. "On it!"

Deeply smirked as he strolled down the hallway with his heavily armed entourage of Juniors, the flashing red of the alarms dancing on his crimson eyes. "All up to you now, Boss."

* * *

"We're assassins, not thieves."

"You're what we pay you to be!" The Hag crowed, her ephemeral fist slamming on the table.

"Boadicea," a smooth, even-toned voice said from the shadows. "This man is our guest."

The mass of wisps in the shape of a woman shimmered and bowed. "Of course, My Lord."

"Drink?"

"No, thank you."

A pause passed, tension filling the air of the small, austere room that served for this once-proud organization's headquarters.

' _Gun for the Big Man, you better be ready to face the consequences,_ ' he thought. ' _A lesson I know all too well._ '

"What do you say?"

St. Anger paused, this was no idle offer, no delusional or desperate act; this was business as usual, despite their diminished state; he found it strangely compelling, misgivings be damned. "I'll need some details."

"Of course."

First and foremost: "Why us? We're killers, warriors, not thieves. You'd be better off hitting up the Söze Gang, or that One-Eyed Shadow Guy that knocked over those casinos."

"This job will require strength and skill both," his potential employer said, his tone of voice suggested a wry smile. "The target is well defended."

Second question: "What's the pay?"

"Blank check."

He blinked, he hadn't been expecting that.

Last question: "What are we stealing and from whom?"

The mysterious demon, his future employer, stepped forward and out of the shadows. He was tallish well-built demon, his banded body white as marble and covered with raised, scar-like brands that read 'G∆CT'. His form was festoon with bands of black studded leather and covering his face was a black mask that sprouted into a crown. His eyes, shimmering silver with obsidian ∆-shaped pupils, held within them a sort of fiery determination, the kind borne of utter faith. This was not a demon to be trifled with.

"You will procure for us the Saint's Corpse from the Vault."

St. Anger was glad that he refused the drink, for even a composed demon such as himself might have spit at the notion. Not one to allow his sang froid to be compromised for even an instant, he smirked and leaned back in his chair. "Oh, it that all?"

The mysterious demon did not flinch, his tone and demeanor such that one might think he'd asked for a coffee, not requested quite literally the impossible. "Name your price."

St. Anger shook his head, doing some quick math in his head he arrived at a suitably absurd sum. "Forty-five."

"Forty-five million?!" Boadicea sputtered. "Absurd! We could hire a small army for that much!"

"Billion."

The word hung in the air, it seemed to echo off the walls.

"I beg your pardon?" The wispy witch-demon croaked, her eyes glowing pits of tyrian floating amidst the ephemeral wisps of her body.

"You heard me," St. Anger said, voice even and conversational; these fools wanted to waste his time with absurdities, he'd return the favor. He might even let them live if their reactions were amusing enough.

"Done." The boss-demon said, a serene smile on his face, his hand extended.

St. Anger could not help himself, his mouth hung open as his eyes bulged.

"Trouble!" Boadicea stammered, eyes bugging, her gaseous body undulating in shock. "Th-that would bankrupt us!"

"Money is of no concern," 'Trouble' said, that smile on his face only seemed to widen. "What do you say, St. Anger? Can we rely on La Squadra to run this errand?"

St. Anger rose to his feet, his red-within black eyes scanning the demon's face and eyes for delusion or jest, finding none. "Half up-front."

"Of course."

Boadicea threw up her hands and stormed off, seething and grumbling to herself.

"Any and all leads you may have, we'll need that too."

"Done."

St. Anger smiled and shook his head, still incredulous. "How do you know we won't take the money and run?"

"And tarnish your reputation?" Trouble scoffed. "You may be killers, but you're men of honor. A contract is a contract is a contract. So, what do you say?"

St. Anger examined the hand extended before him, if he shook it, he'd likely be sentencing his crew to death or worse. But… if they succeeded, the sheer magnitude of their success, the prestige, and the money… La Squadra could become what it had always been fated to be. La Squadra could become its own empire. St. Anger knew of the Vault, knew of its reputation, thousands had set out to raid it, never to return. The risk was unimaginable, but so was the reward.

"Deal," said St. Anger, taking his hand, a flare of demonic energy sealed the pact, it was now irreversible. "La Squadra Esecuzioni will retrieve the Saint's Corpse or die trying."

Trouble grinned now, silver eyes shining. "Your faith in your teammates is admirable. Faith is something I respect greatly, for faith begets faith. I don't doubt for a second that you'll be successful. Until we meet again, St. Anger."

St. Anger was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of rending metal, exploding pipes, and the unmistakable crackling of ice. He looked around to see pipes in the ceiling and walls burst open into hard, blue shards of ice, great stalactites of flash-frozen holy water. A shrill alarm echoed in the halls as the Vault's security systems finally sprang to life.  
Red lights flashed and the intercom blared: "Code black! Code black! Demonic incursion in Perimeter-C! This is not a drill! This is a Level-3 incursion, all non-essential personnel are to arm themselves and proceed to Perimeter-B and Perimeter-D. Repeat: Code black. Level-3 incursion underway. All security personnel are to report to Perimeters B and D!"

"That's the signal," Aoxomoxoa said, looking around. "Good Vibrations should be showing up soon."

On cue, a small silver hook on a pink, fleshy line dropped down from the ceiling, dangling in the air. St. Anger reached up and took the line between his fingers, tugging on it twice in short succession. The twine pulsated between his fingers, a series of alternating long and short pulses: morse code.

"Juniors in position-stop-preparing to draw away security-stop-code is 12:43-45."

"Matthew." Willin' scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Kinda obvious, dontcha think?"

St. Anger concentrated as the message switched to binary code and picked up in speed, slowly sending the visual information of the retina and thumbprint Deeply had extracted from the guard. St. Anger replicated the patterns on his thumb and eye with nanometer-sized iron particles, placing them over his own. "We're ready."

The team of invisible demons waited as a small contingent of heavily armed guards stormed past, blessed and warded riot gear and armor clattering.

"I hope the others'll be alright…" Willin' muttered.

"We can't afford to worry about them right now," St. Anger said. "We must focus on our task at hand. We can't know what kind of trials await us within the Vault, so we must be at our very best if we're going to make it out alive!"

"OW OW OW OW OW!" Blitzo cried, his tongue frozen fast to one of the giant holy water icicles. "It's freezing and burning at the same time!"

"Our very best, huh?" Thriller snickered.

The door opened and they flinched: the hallways were clad with polished, heavily warded metal plating, the light reflecting from the surface itched and burned where it touched their skin.

"Cold iron," St. Anger said, unsurprised. "The whole hallway is plated with blessed cold iron plates!"

Blitzo squinted and shielded his eyes. "Holy-water sprinklers, cold iron floors; what's next, furniture made from the fuckin' cross?!"

"Cold iron, but iron still," said St. Anger as he started forward. "Follow me closely."

The plating rippled as the powerful demon walked down the hallway, groaning and it buckled and peeled away around the advancing hellions like a blasphemous Moses parting the Red Sea. He crouched down and placed his thumb and eye against the scanners, typing the code into the pad.

"Is it just me…" Blitzo said, rubbing his chin.

Willin' shook his head. " **Don't.** "

"Or does all this seem–"

"Don't _**fucking**_ say it!"

"–Way too easy?"

The door slid open to reveal a wide atrium with a high ceiling and steel walkways criss-crossing the walls. All throughout the large room, on the main floor and high above on the gantry walk-ways was scores of heavily armed security guards and automated turrets.

"You just had to say it, didn't you?"

* * *

A guard bellowed as he lay down a barrage of fully automatic fire from his P90, the stream of bullets trailing a hair's breadth behind the nimble imp as she ra up the wall. Millie bound off the vertical surface and somersaulted through the air, grabbing the guard's head in both her hands and wrenching it around with a gristly snap. Without a single wasted motion she drew her pistol in one hand and gathered up the P90 in another and fired a barrage down the hallway at the attacking guards, forcing them to take cover. Men in riot gear stepped out around corners, ballistic shields in their hands. The 9mm and 5.7mm rounds splashed harmlessly off of the hardened aramid barriers, the guards peeked their submachine guns around the shields and opened fire as they advanced.

"Micheal!" Millie cried, dancing between streams of hot lead. "A bit of help here!"

The Junior named Micheal subsumed himself into the floor and rushed forward, popping back up in front of the Impess along with a segment of floor, creating a barrier. Millie smiled at him and held out her hand, Micheal scooped up a handful of cubes from the floor and remodeled them into a hand-grenade, giving it to her. Millie giggled and pulled the pin with her teeth, hurling it behind the advancing shield wall before ducking back behind. The explosion filled the hallway for an instant, scattering bloody chunks and limbs everywhere.

"Where's Moxxie?" Millie said as more Juniors rushed forward, each creating cover walls from the floor and firing over them.

"He's with Samael and Gabriel at the other end of the hall," said Micheal, firing an AK-47 over the cover wall. "The other Juniors managed to fuse the door shut, but they're cutting through."

"What about Good Vibrations?"

"He's updating our bosses, should be done in a minute."

"Here they come again!" Another Junior cried. "They's throwin' somethin'!"

A series of dull 'thwumps' sounded and a half-dozen smoking canisters tumbled down the hall, hissing as great white plumes gushed forth, filling the air.

"Hah!" A Junior with a thicket of coppery spikes on his head laughed, waving away the wisps of gas as they swirled around him. "Tear gas? Do these mortals actually think tear gas is going to do shit for dick against us? Ha ha ha ha ha ha h–ACK!"

The Junior stopped suddenly, eyes bugged out and bloodshot. Bloody foam bubbled out of his mouth as his eyes sizzled and melted out of his skull, his skin bubbling and bursting into jets of pinkish steam.

"Holy water vapor!" Millie cried as the Junior dissolved into a shrieking puddle of gore, holding her breath and squeezing her eyes shut.

Micheal scooped up two more handfuls of floor and fashioned the little cubes into full-face gas-masks. "Mom, here! Put this on!"

Millie grabbed the mask and stuck it on her face, gasping in filtered breaths of air. Micheal put his on and winked at her. Millie and Micheal smiled and nodded and the two of them popped up over the wall, unloading on the half-score of guards advancing under the cover of the holy vapor. The surviving Juniors formed their own gas-masks and followed suit, decimating the advancing humans. Their ranks broke under the furious assault and retreated as several more fell dead to the floor.

"'Mom'?" Millie giggled and nudged Micheal with her elbow. "Nice shootin', 'son'."

A cry came from down the hall followed by the thunderous crack of a breaching charge. "Breach! Samael, cover us!"

Automatic fire poured from the smoldering hole in the wall as guards with shields charged through. A Junior stepped forward, his red eyes blazing, set against his unusually dark carapace, face alight in a joyous smile as his two MG42s roared.

"I am the scales of justice!" He bellowed, mouth pulled into a toothy, manic grin. "Conductor of the choir of death! Sing, Brother Werner! Sing, Brother Gruner! Sing brothers! SING! SIIIIIIIING!"

The hail of fire stymied their advance for a few precious seconds as they hid behind their shields.

Moxxie turned to the Junior next to him. "Gabriel! Carl Gustaf, AP round!"

Gabriel manifested the recoilless rifle and handed it to the Imp. Moxxie readied the weapon and shot to his feet, lining up the sights. "Clear backblast!"

The Carl Gustaf bellowed. The tandem-warhead struck the forward-most guard and blasted a hole clear through his shield and body with a jet of hypersonic metal, the other warhead sailed through and detonated within the clustered ranks pushing through the door, vaporizing them and a large section of hallway in a deafening explosion. The shockwave roared back down the hall, knocking Moxxie off his feet, Gabriel and Samael were largely unaffected.

"Th-that was an AP round?!" Moxxie sputtered, clearing out his ringing ears.

Gabriel shrugged. "Armor penetrating."

"Anti-Personnel!"

"Hey, if it works…"

Moxxie got to his feet and boggled at the gaping, bloody crater that used to be the door. "Great! All we did was make a larger door for them!"

"Bring 'em on!" Samael roared. "I can kill the little shits as fast as they come at me!"

The ceiling exploded downward in a rain of dust a debris. Guards streamed down from the hole on abseiling cables, submachine guns blazing, mowing down two Juniors with warded, cold-iron bullets. The squad of security forces leveled their weapons at Moxxie and his Juniors when a pink cable wove itself between each man. The line snapped taut and, with a series of wet tearing sounds, the guards collapsed to the floor, dead. Good Vibrations stepped out of the utility closet, on his line were a half-dozen still beating hearts.

"Fuckin' _**metal!**_ " Samael cackled, throwing up the horns.

"Thanks for the save, GV," Moxxie said, kicking one of the twitching hearts away. "What's the word?"

Good Vibrations drew in his line. "Boss got the message, they're heading further inside. Truly says that he's got eyes on 'em. What's the situation out here?"

"We've lost half our Juniors already and they just keep coming!" Moxxie said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How long are we supposed to hold out like this?"

"Long enough!" Good Vibrations said, pointing at the blasted hole down the hall and in the ceiling. "Patch these up, double-strength! I'll clear the hall and give us some breathing room."

"You'll what?" Moxxie shouted after him as he strolled down the hall. "GV! What are you doing?!"

[Good Vibrations inhaled slowly and exhaled, relaxing his shoulders. ' _Remember what Big Bro said: have faith in yourself, and others will have faith in you. Believe in yourself, and they'll believe in you. Believe._ '](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mNJRPTrB46Y)

He strode past Micheal and Millie as they crouched behind a raised section of floor, his hook and line unspooling and coiling in the air around him, the pink twine undulating and shifting. The soldiers opened fire on the advancing demon, the languidly undulating line effortlessly deflected the hail of deadly fire, swatting the cold iron out of the air like flies. Good Vibrations closed his eyes breathed deep, when his eyes opened again they were glowing pits of purple light. His lips split apart, revealing a thicket of translucent needle-like teeth. The soft, doughy skin of his face grew taut as his skull expanded underneath. His round, pudgy body stretched and elongated, body protrusions sprouting up from his shiny green hide, his fingertips bursting open as huge talons pushed out. Where the formerly unassuming demon once stood was a huge, emaciated monster of the deep, its face a horror of teeth and enormous lantern-like eyes. The beast bellowed and charged, bullets shattering against the coils of his indestructible line. A slash from his sickle claws turned a soldier into shreds of viscera splashing against the wall. His hook, now a huge, brutal scythe, disappeared into a guard's chest before being yanked back out, tearing his spinal column through his chest. Good Vibrations roared and hurled himself at the dense formation of soldiers, a flurry of teeth, claws, and sinew.

"Huh," Millie said as screams filled the air. "I keep forgetting everyone can do that."

"Doesn't happen much, does it? I would guess it's a vanity thing, but he was no catch before, either," said Micheal, ducking a disembodied arm as it sailed through the air. "Ah, but who am I to judge?"

"Fall back!" One of the remaining guards cried. "Fall back!"

The surviving security force scrambled away from the rampaging demon, the heavy steel blast-door slamming shut behind them. Good Vibrations stood in the gore-splattered hallway, flanks heaving as he panted, breath like a rotting sea hissing between his fangs. He slowly deflated, gnarled, spindly limbs retracting into his increasingly stout trunk. Soon, he was the short, pudgy anglerfish demon he was before.

"Blech!" He grimaced, smacking his lips. "I hate doing that. Always leaves a terrible taste in my mouth."

The Juniors rushed in and sealed the door shut. Micheal set about setting up a bulwark of cover-walls and sandbags while Gabriel fabricated machine gun emplacements. Moxxie exhaled and wiped his brow before rushing over to Millie.

"You okay, Mils?"

"Oh yeah, Mox!" She chirped, jabbing a thumb at Micheal. "Our boy is looking after me. How's little Gabe and Sammy been holding up?"

"This situation is so fucking bizarre…" Moxxie muttered before nodding. "They've been great! Gabriel's a solid wingman and Samael is… enthusiastic."

"Aw man! I saw you tear that guy's spine out!" Samael gushed to Good Vibrations, a manic grin on his face. "How it pulled his guts out with it? So cool!"

"Oh, well, y'know…" Good Vibrations chuckled, a greenish flush forming in his cheeks.

Millie giggled and pecked Moxxie on the cheek. "And you thought this would be hard!"

Moxxie blushed and smiled. "Now, you know how I feel about jinxing things!"

"Please!" Millie brushed him off. "We've got these mortals on the ropes! What could they possibly throw at us?"

"Hey," One of the Juniors said, pointing down the hall. "Who's that?"

All heads turned as a lone figure walked down the gore-streaked hallway, his pace leisurely and confident.

"Those guys weren't kidding," he said, looking at the butchered remains with disgust. "You really are a bunch of monsters."

* * *

St. Anger strode into the center of the large atrium, arms crossed. He looked around at the surrounding structure; steel walkways and stairs, steel rebar reinforcing the concrete, plenty for him to work with. Not to mention the thousands of cold iron bullets the surrounding security forces were pumping into his magnetic field. The stopped bullets formed a dome dome some five meters in radius, crowded around him was his team… and Blitzo, safe from the hail of fire. Still, the room was wide and high, enough so that he would not be able to slaughter all the guards by himself, at least, not quickly enough.

"They just don't give up, do they?" Willin' scoffed, tapping one of the still-hot bullets.

"Hey, Aox, think you can dust these chumps?" Thriller said.

Aoxomoxoa shook his head, pointing at the nearest soldier, covered from head to toe in riot gear. "Nah, see, they're all wearing gas masks. I need them to breath in the accelerant. I can make the components of the respirators break down, but it'll take time."

"Time we don't have," St. Anger growled. "Thriller, Willin', it's time for a disco-ball."

Thriller and Willin' grinned at each other. "You got it, Boss."

"Disco-ball?" Blitzo said, scratching his head. "What, you guys gonna bust moves so fly they'll drop dead?"

"Something like that," Willin' said, looking Blitzo up and down for a moment. "Wanna dance?"

Blitzo's eyes went wide and shiny, a huge smile splitting his face. "Would I?!"

"Would you?"

"Would I?!"

"Would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Would you like to dance?"

"Would I?!"

"Would you?"

"Enough!" St. Anger barked, raising his arms. He crossed them across his chest. the thousands of bullets flattened into foot-wide discs, their surfaces rippled and shimmered, forming into perfect mirrors. The dark jester-demon swung his arms outward, the discs shot outward, embedding themselves in the walls, ceiling, and even a few soldiers. Willin' reached into his pocket and produced a cigarette case, holding it out to Blitzo.

"Oh no," Blitzo said, shaking his head. "I don't smoke."

"Suit yourself." Willin' cracked the case a produced a small black object the size of a cigarette; an instant later and it expanded in size, revealing itself to be a M16 with a 150-round drum magazine and M203 grenade launcher. "Ready to bust a move, Imp?"

"One sec." Blitzo produced a boombox, pressing play and cranking the volume, bopping his head to the beat as he drew his two ornate pistols. ["Let's boogie."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RKoZMke594A)

Willin' produced a pair of sunglasses and tapped his foot. "You. I like you."

Thriller cackled and snapped his fingers in tune. "One! Two! Three!"

The three hellions vanished into the mirror world. Willin' appeared high in the air, whirling about, raking the upper walkways with automatic fire, shredding the guards before vanishing again. The soldiers trained their weapons upward, searching for the source of the gunfire. Blitzo appeared amidst them, unloading his pistols into the exposed backs of the guards, disappearing an instant later. The imp appeared and disappeared all over the room, guns blazing. A soldier leveled his rifle on the Imp, his shot clear, when a talon burst from his throat. Willin' kicked the corpse over and leapt upwards, feeling Thriller's hands grab him by the arms and pull him into the mirror world for a bare instant, dropping him back out onto the walkway.

Willin' aimed down at floor below, finding a cluster of guards taking cover behind a concrete block. He smirked and launched a grenade with a low 'thwump'. The 40mm high-explosive grenade detonated with a crack of light and sound, throwing the half-dozen men high into the air. Blitzo spun his pistols, shots cracking mid-spin and striking mortally, footwork in beat with the music as he grooved and bopped between bursts of automatic fire. Guards dropped as the Imp danced about, flashing hither thither around the room. A few of the guards attempted to form up into a defensive formation, but a score of dog-sized pubic lice swarmed them and sewed chaos amidst the confused, terrified mortals until they were mowed down by a barrage of assault rifle and pistol fire.

"Big finale!" Willin' announced, resizing Milkor MGL, dumping it and the rest M16 ammo-drum into one of the mirror discs.

Thriller divvied up the stream of deadly bullets and grenades, sending each to different mirrors spread about the room. Thriller, Willin, and Blitzo appeared in front of St. Anger.

"And…" Blitzo reached out and Willin' handed him a pair of sunglasses, he put them on and grinned. "…Strike a pose."

The trio struck a dramatic flourish as the rest of the bullets rematerialized and found their targets, the high-explosive grenades exploding simultaneously, backdropping them with pillars of flame and smoke as scores of bodies lay scattered about them.

St. Anger stood, silent, his arms crossed.

"C'mon Boss," Willin' said, notching the sunglasses down his snout. "You gotta admit, that was cool."

"The music really tied it together," Thriller said, shooting Blitzo a thumbs up. "You did good out there, Blitzo-Krieg."

"Aw, shucks!" Blitzo giggled, rubbing his neck as a blush burned in his cheeks.

"Good grief," a voice said, echoing in the now-silent atrium.

Their heads turned to see a tall, well-built young man making his way towards them, stepping over bodies, expensive black pants taut across his muscular legs, long black gakuran coat whirling about as he did.

"Gloating over the corpses of people you just killed." He glared at them from under his visored cap, green eyes blazing. "You guys really are the worst kind of shit, aren't you?"

"Who's this, now? Some asshole with a death wish?" Willin' scoffed and squinted at the approaching figure. "Big fucker, ain't he?"

The bold interloper didn't break his stride, marching towards the murderous demons, his eyes darkened and set with fury and determination.

"Phht! What's he even wearing?" Aoxomoxoa sneered. "Some kinda decked out schoolboy's uniform?"

"Looks like a delinquent student!" Thriller laughed, turning to St. Anger. "Check out that ridiculous gold chain! How can he… think that looks… good… you okay, St. Anger?"

St. Anger stood ramrod stiff, rosen eyes wide and set, sweat dripping down his pallid cheeks.

The members of La Squadra took notice of their Boss' reaction. Each one turned back to the Japanese youth marching fearlessly towards them, murder clear in his eyes.

"…Oh, _fuck_." Willin' took a step back, his eyes wide with terror, ears flat.

"I-is that…?" Aoxomoxoa whispered, his many eyes wide.

"I-it can't be!" Thriller exclaimed. "Trouble crashed that whole universe! How is he here?!"

"Look at the balls on this kid!" Blitzo said, marching forward. "Hey guys, let me take care of this!"

"Blitzo, man, that's–" Willin' began to say, silenced when St. Anger's hand set on his shoulder.

Willin' looked up at his boss, questioning.

"Let me have this," said St. Anger, something like longing in his eyes.

"Oh ho!" Blitzo chuckled as he walked towards the teen. "You approach me?"

"I can't kick you ass unless I get closer," the teen said, green eyes like daggers.

"Well, there's you're first mistake," Blitzo said, drawing his pistol. "All of human history has been a race to see who can kill who from the farthest away. I mean, if you were right in my face, you cave that fucker in, right?"

The teen continued his bee-line for the Imp. "And then some, you evil piece of shit."

Blitzo shook his head and aimed his pistol. "Well sonny, in the words of a hero of mine: 'Good. Bad. I'm the guy with the gun'!"

The report of the pistol echoed off the walls of the crypt silent atrium. Blitzo stood triumphant, a great puff of smoke ejecting from the gunbarrel. For the barest of instants he could have sworn he saw a muscular purple arm extend from over the lad's shoulder, it's hand looking as though it had just flicked something. Blitzo's pistol jumped in his hand, not with the familiar feeling of recoil, but from impact. A high metallic 'ping' sounded and the barrel of his weapon bulged. Blitzo blinked in confusion and examined his weapon, holding the gunbarrel up to his eye. Inside it he could plainly see the ball he had just fired, smoking hot, lodged in the warped steel of the firing chamber. The kid had just flicked his bullet back hard enough to ruin his gun.

"Oh, that is _hard_ **_core_**!" Blitzo exclaimed, grinning like a loon. "Also, not good for me."

He turned to see the absurdly tall teen looming over him, death shining in his piercing green eyes.

"Also, not good for me."

"Any more stupid catchphrases?"

"Uh, a wise man once said 'Mercy is the sign of a righteous ma–"

A huge studded fist appeared and smashed into Blitzo's face with the force of a cannonball. "[ _ **ORAAAAA!**_](https://youtu.be/OzHE5q1NGa4?t=25)"

A flurry of fists hammered down on Blitzo's body, shattered under a blur of blows as his body snapped and contorted beneath the furious assault. " _ **ORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORA!**_ "

A ferocious uppercut sent the mangled Imp flying, his downward motion negated by yet another punishing rush of punches, the sounds of impacting fists, snapping bones, and pulverized flesh underscored the terrible cry of the lad's fighting spirit. " _ **ORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORA!"**_

 _ **"OOORRRAAAAA!**_ " The final blow sent the shattered remains of the hellion sailing through the air. St. Anger leaned to the side as Blitzo's body hurtled over his shoulder, slamming into the wall behind him with enough force to crater the reinforced concrete.

St. Anger closed his eyes and sighed, allowed a smile to creep onto his face. "Sometimes, life is good to me."

"Urgh…" a wet, clotted voice gurgled from the crater. "G-go geddim, Angie… I softened him up for ya, brother!"

St. Anger locked the lad with a vermilion stare. "Jotaro Kujo."

The delinquent thumbed his nose and shoved his hands in his pockets. "That's right. So… who's next?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weren't expecting that, were ya?
> 
> Oh, and while you're at it, think about contributing to the TvTropes page!  
> https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/HelluvaJob
> 
> A reader by the name of Arakiisjogenius put this together for this fic and I'd like to send some traffic its way!


	5. Crusade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thisiswherethefunbegins.jpg
> 
> Content Warning: Things are about to get very JoJo

Chapter 5: Crusade

  
Truly hummed to himself as he applied an even coat of polish to the hellhound’s foot claws, his strokes level and measured. Behind him, several coils of root-like tendrils spread across the floor, each one leading into the open, undulating portal to Earth-1.

“And he’s okay, you know?” Loona said, gesticulating indecisively with her left hand, phone securely clasped in her right. “But sometimes he can be a bit much. I appreciate that he took me in, but I need a little space, right?”

“Oh, of course!” Truly nodded, gesturing at himself. “Me, I just let my man go for his walks. Let him clear his head. It’s an unspoken thing between us, lets off the steam so no-one’s expecting any sort of ‘grand display’.”

“That sounds nice,” Loona said, examining her toes. “Not that we’re like that. It’s more like he’s a dad or something.”

“It still applies,” said Truly, gesturing around at the room. “All this, this roof over your head, this job, he feels he’s given you all you need. But then when you carry on, he feels like he still needs to impress you with gifts. If you make an overture once in a while, he won’t bother you with so much nonsense!”

“I know, I know!” Loona sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I just get… worked up, you know? It’s not his fault, or anyone’s, really. But every time I let off some steam, he thinks it’s his fault and doubles down on the daddy stuff, right?”

“And that just makes it worse.” Truly nodded knowingly. “All I can say is this; tell him that sometimes you need some venting space. He’ll understand, he’s the dramatic type, after all. Best case scenario, he’ll build you a rage room and all will be right again.”

“Maybe…” Loona said, rubbing her neck. “I don’t know why I do what I do. Maybe it’s something else? Something worse?”

Truly rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Honey, you just need to vent. If things don’t get better, at least you know where to go from. Blitzo’ll want to help you. He loves you to pieces, you know.”

“Yeah…” Loona smiled and nodded. “He does.”

Truly went ramrod stiff, his eyes wide as a grimace crept across his face. “What… Oh, god…”

“What?” Loona said. “What’s wrong?”

Truly turned and stared at the portal, his voice low and terrified. “They can’t be! How?!”

“What’s going on?” Loona got to her feet as Truly deployed another swathe of vines into the portal.

“I’ve been hooked up to the Vault’s security systems this whole time, altering the information from the video surveillance feed and monitoring security movements.” Truly pounded the floor with a fist, gritting his thorny teeth. “This is impossible! How did they…?”

“Should I bother asking, or are you going to just keep dramatically saying shit?”

“The Stardust Crusaders!” Truly snapped. “Our people are being attacked by the Stardust Crusaders!”

Loona snorted a laugh. “Sounds like a male stripper troupe.”

“No! Well… I mean, that’d be a sight, but no.” Truly tapped a tendril to her phone, displaying the group picture. “Our friends are in terrible danger!”

“A black dude, a twink, a punk, a silver fox, and a frenchman…” Loona looked back to Truly. “You sure this isn’t a sex thing?”

“Don’t forget the Boston Terrier!”

“Ew.”

“And no! They’re a team of some of the most powerful Stand-Users ever assembled!”

“What’s a ‘Stand’?”

“Silver lining, their star player hasn’t yet developed his signature move, so we may have a chance.”

Truly set off for the portal, Loona called out after him. “Hey! Where are you going?”

“To help my man!”

The dryad-demon hopped into the portal and was gone. Loona sighed and looked at her toes, sucking her teeth. “At least finish the job…”

Deeply slashed the guard before him, removing the bonds between the hydrogen and oxygen molecules in his body. He kicked the bloating, contorting figure down the hall at the formation of guards hiding behind shields. The guard burst open and a gunshot set off the compressed hydrogen, engulfing the mortals in a fireball.

“I have to say, that’s my favorite way of killing a person,” Deeply grinned, licking a splat of blood off his cheek with a tar-black tongue.

He deflected a hail of bullets one-handed and spun about to see two battered guards that had been left for dead. He grinned. A single horizontal slash stole the internal pressure of one and stuck it in the other, causing the first to collapse in on himself as over two tons of atmospheric pressure rushed in on him, the other became a blotchy flesh-balloon as every blood vessel in his body burst at once.

“Ah, but that’s a good one too.”

[“Mon dieu,” a voice exclaimed, flat and low with disgust. “You remind me of someone and it’s pissing me off.”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3vjCHg5WcTQ)

Deeply turned to see a tall man walking towards him, he was tallish, over six-foot, maybe six-six counting his ridiculous hair styled into an absurd silver pillar. Deeply took note of the demented thicket that sat atop his own head and thought it best not to judge too harshly. “Have you gone mad with fear? Understandable, but I’m honestly stunned at how bad a move you’re making.”

The human didn’t stop his advance, murder clear in his pale blue eyes. “Monsters like you belong in Hell. On my honor as a Frenchman, I’ll see that you wished you never crawled out of that pit.”

“Right, okay.” Deeply clapped his hands. “Juniors! Pull this dipshit apart like a turkey.”

Five Juniors rushed past him, cackling, eyes alight with murderous joy.

“I call the drumstick!”

“Gonna wear that stupid hair like a hat!”

“Dibs on the wishbone!”

“This lad has hams! Gimme!”

“Ha ha that’s gay.”

The demonic homunculi converged on the fearless mortal, strings of drool streaming from their manic, grinning mouths, claws glinting in the florescent lights. A sharp, metallic keening cut the air like a sword. Deeply blinked and started back, certain he’d seen something in that split second. The Juniors blew apart into bloody mist, their bodies pulverized, no, sliced until they resembled little more than paste. The gore splattered out, coating the walls and floor but leaving the Frenchman spotless.

“W-what?” Deeply muttered, eyes wide.

“If that’s the best you bastards can do, then I think I was waylaid for no reason!” He struck a wide-stanced pose and pointed at them. “My name is Jean Pierre Polnareff and I’m on a mission. I avenged my sister but another, even worse bastard still remains. The people of this world tell me that my friends and I must defeat you monsters if we want to return, and defeat you we shall!”

‘ _Polnareff?!_ ’ Deeply thought, incredulous. ‘ _If he’s here, that must mean…_ ’

“Open fire!” Deeply commanded the remaining Juniors. “Everything you’ve got!”

The Juniors manifested rotary cannons and rocket launchers from the surrounding materials and opened fire. The air was alight with countless dazzling flashes as thousands of bullets were deflected away from the smirking Frenchman, rockets and grenades atomized as they were sliced millions of times in a second. A silver flash ended the fusillade as exactly six bullets were sent screaming back down the hall at hypersonic speeds, splattering the remaining Junior’s heads simultaneously. Deeply sneered and swatted the large-caliber bullet away.

“Hey, you’re pretty fast,” Polnareff said, an ephemeral shape materializing over his shoulder: the sword and armored arm of a powerful Stand. “You just might give my [Silver Chariot] a bit of trouble.”

“More than a bit,” Deeply snarled, flexing his talons, eyes glowing.

He lunged at the Frenchman, a hellish roar splitting the air, blood-streaked claws glinting.

  
Blackbird stood in the main pump-room, hands on the primary water pump over the reservoir. It was been a simple matter to turn the bottom of the reservoir into ice and use that as a plunger to shunt the huge amount of water into the Vault’s piping all at once. The water, already on the very cusp of freezing, took but a tiny portion of his power to freeze solid. The ensuing high pressure ice ruptured every pipe in the facility, ensuring that no matter what the mortals did, this holy water could never be used against his teammates.

An explosion sounded from outside the pump-room, screams and commotion and automatic fire. The mortals must be trying to breach again. Blackbird noted that despite Playlist’s objections, these Juniors were performing rather well. While he conceded that their physical and mental abilities were subpar compared to past broods, against mortals they were more than sufficient.

The door swung inwards and five haggard-looking Juniors rushed in, some looked noticeably singed, and slammed the door shut behind them, locking it.

“What are you doing?” Blackbird barked. “What is the meaning of this!”

The Juniors didn’t answer, instead they leveled their weapons at the door and waited, eyes bugged open and hands trembling.

“I asked you a question!” Blackbird growled. “What’s going on?!”

A spot on the heavy steel door glowed red, the orange, then white before a single floating ball of pulsating flame punched through the molten metal and into the open air. The ball of flame exploded outward, heating the interior to the temperature of the surface of the sun for a brief instant. Water vapor hung in the clear rippling air, not even smoke could survive this heat, the metal walls glowed orange. The five Juniors had been reduced to warped carbonized shadows of their former selves, their weapons blast-melted and fused to their charred bodies, empty eyes staring wide as their mouths were warped by a final agonized scream. Blackbird stood unharmed, arms crossed as the air around him shimmered with ice particles.

“Hm.”

He walked forward, the hot metal of the floor screamed and ruptured as his feet touched and cooled it thousands of degrees in less than a second. He kicked the breached door, shattering it and sending its pieces smashing into the opposite wall. He looked down the hall, littered with mortal corpses from prior attacks, but also the rest of his Juniors, each in similar flash-cooked states. Standing among them was a tall man Blackbird identified as North African in decent, Nubian most likely.

“And you are?”

The man smiled, his hands danced through a series of arcane gestures, loose baggy clothes whirling as surges of hot air rolled off of him. [“Beast of the underworld! Know that you face Muhammed Avdol, Fortune Teller of the Nile, Master of the Occult!”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VRUnjCzgr9U)

“A pyrokinetic?” Blackbird said, noting the crumbling bodies of his minions. “Fascinating.”

The pipes surrounding the Fortune Teller groaned and buckled, splitting open to reveal ice. The ice shifted and fused together, forming two spiked walls on either side of the interloper. The two slabs smashed together with a resounding ‘crack’, like boulders shattering, crushing him flat between ice so cold not even his blood would squirt out before freezing.

“A little something a picked up in Hell,” Blackbird said, a triumphant smile on his gaseous face. “In life I could generate fields of intense cold and manipulate the matter within them. Now, I can freely control ice, even at a distance, I just need a contiguous line of ice extending from my control radius. In a facility laden with crisscrossing pipes full of frozen water, this whole building is an extension of my will!”

“A trick you learned in Hell, eh?” Avdol stepped out of the block in a rush of steam, arms folded casually across his chest, completely unharmed. “You’ll need to spend another fifty years there if you wish to challenge me!”

“I-impossible,” Blackbird sputtered, noting the almost cartoonish man-shaped hole he had left in the block. “Even if you could have heated it up that fast, you should have been boiled alive and crushed by the pressure!”

“Tsk tsk!” The Magician smiled and waved his finger at the seething ice demon. “You’d be right if my flames were simple flames, but they’re not! I would have been in trouble if you could control water, but ice is hardly a match for my Stand, [Magician’s Red]!”

A burst of flame and the ghostly apparition of a muscular bird anthropoid appeared, screeching a defiant cry.

“A Stand-User?!” Blackbird clenched his fists. “Wait… I know you! Muhammed Avdol, of the Stardust Crusaders! Th-that means…”

“That means you and your infernal host are doomed!” He launched a flaming ankh at the icy cat-demon. “Cross Fire Hurricane!”

“Bastard!” Blackbird roared, dispersing the flaming ankh with blast of his cryogenic essence. He summoned dozens of needle-sharp ice-javelins and adopted a ready stance, the air around him so cold liquid oxygen fell like rain. ‘ _Looks like this job just got a little harder…_ ’

Moxxie watched the lad approaching them; he was just a kid! He was somewhat above average in height, with a slender build accentuated by his immaculate green schoolboy’s uniform. His red hair was cut short and neatly groomed, save for a single long, coiffed bang that hung over his forehead. His cherry-shaped earrings bounced as he strode forward, eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses, but Moxxie could feel the hard righteous stare bearing down on them. The Imp’s well-earned sense for danger was screaming at him to keep his distance: just who was this kid?

“J-Juniors!” Good Vibrations commanded, clearly sensing the same danger as Moxxie. “Kill him! Kill him before he gets any closer!”

Gabriel and Samael started forward, but Moxxie grabbed their wrists, pulling them back. They stared at their ‘father’ and saw the look on his face, the fear, and stayed put. Michael glanced at Millie and subtly guided her behind him. The two remaining Juniors took off down the hall, guns blazing. The bullets ricocheted off of white tendrils infused with green emeralds, shattering harmlessly. A figure manifested in front of the boy, a tall armored figure with swirling green interlaced with plates of white metal, its yellow, glassy eyes regarding the attackers. An instant later and two tendrils impaled the Juniors through the chest. They screamed and tensed, their bodies stiff like statues. The Juniors melted away into countless cubes, which vanished into the floor leaving no trace whatsoever of their existence. The armored figure disappeared, revealing the schoolboy, right hand pointing skyward over his left shoulder as his left gestured ‘I love you’ in ASL over his right elbow.

[“My name is Noriaki Kakyoin. I am a high school student from Japan on a mission to defeat an ancient evil. You monsters stand in my way, but not for long.”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2L4r0Aelvg)

“N-Noriaki Kakyoin?!” Good Vibrations stammered.

“Who is he?” Millie said to Michael. “And what’s that ghost thing?”

“A Stand,” said Michael, sweat beading on his grey forehead. “A manifestation of a soul’s fighting spirit.”

“Oh, is that all?” Moxxie scoffed. “Why are we always the last people to know about stuff like this?”

“And that’s Noriaki Kakyoin, a member of the Stardust Crusaders, a powerful group of Stand-Users. If he’s here, we’re–”

“Enough of this!” Good Vibrations shrieked, summoning his hook. “I’ve heard all about you, Kakyoin! You’re powerful, but you’re no match for me!”

The lad spread his arms wide, smirking. “Well? I’ll give you a free shot, fish-face!”

Good Vibrations smirked. “Idiot.”

His hook launched forward crossing the distance between them with shocking speed. Kakyoin grit his teeth and sent his Stand into action. “[Hierophant Green]!”

The mechanical apparition launched a swarm of tentacles at the incoming hook. The hook effortlessly wove around the tentacles and went straight for the Stand. [Hierophant Green] crossed its arms across its chest to block, bracing itself.

“Tch.” Good Vibrations smiled toothily. “You’re dead.”

The hook phased through the Stand as though it weren’t there, exiting its back and planting itself in the shoolboy’s chest.

“What?!” Kakyoin cried, eyes wide.

The line went taut and, with wet rip and crackling snap, his chest exploded outward, his still-beating heart on the hook. Blood burst from his mouth along with a mortal scream.

“You shouldn’t have underestimated me!” Good Vibration cackled, flicking the trembling heart to the floor. “Everyone always does, and it always ends the same for them! Dead! Like you! I am a member of La Squadra Esecuzioni, the greatest assassination team in all of Hell itself! You were dead the second I saw you!”

The dead man standing shuddered, literally, his entire body flickered like a broken TV set, instead of pixels his appearance was made of… cubes? Kakyoin disappeared, replaced with one of the Juniors, blood spurting from the gaping hole in his chest. The homunculus sputtered and twitched, falling forward and bouncing limply on the floor, dead.

“W-what?” Good Vibrations muttered, eyes wide and face pale. “How?”

The ceiling overhead shifted into a mass of cubes and Kakyoin descended from it, suspended by a multitude of tentacles. “Behind you.”

Good Vibrations spun around, hook ready to strike, but he was too late; before him was [Hierophant Green], its hands cupped together, a gushing pillar of green fluid roiling between them.

“Emerald Splash!!”

The demon didn’t so much as have time to scream as hundreds of supersonic emeralds burst forth from the surge of green liquid, scattering outward like a titanic shotgun. Good Vibrations’ body jittered and snapped side to side as his flesh was shredded, limbs and torso pulverized by the densely packed barrage. His body was sent flying limply through the air, blood and tissue trailing behind him. He thudded to the floor some meters down the hallway, silent and still.

“Good Vibrations!” Moxxie cried out.

“No!” Millie covered her eyes with her hands, turning to Micheal, who held her.

Kakyoin set down on the floor, the other Junior materialized next to him, a multitude of tendrils sprouting from his body, his expression and motions mirroring the lad’s. He fabricated a marionette and handed it to his master, who took it and smirked at the remaining demons. 

“The last time I used this terrible ability, I was under the thrall of a vile monster. I swore never to use it again. But against creatures such as you…” He made the Junior and marionette slash their thumbs across their throats and point at the nervous demons. “…I have no such compunctions!”

“A little less conversation, a little more action!” A mass of cubes erupted from the floor behind the lad, reforming into the form of a leering, drooling Playlist, his ovipositors extended and writhing. “Such smarts! Such righteousness! The Juniors you’ll birth will be a sight to behold! LET’S MAKE SOME BABIES, PRETTY-BOY!”

Kakyoin did not seem to notice the immediate danger, instead he smiled and shook his head. “And I was saving this trick for that same vile monster. Though, I suppose you will have to do.”

Dozens of hitherto invisible crisscrossing tentacles flared and buzzed as Playlist’s body flew through the air, straining the delicate net with his bodyweight. Playlist’s eyes snapped open wide, a grimace of fear on his screen as they snapped. Multiple simultaneous blasts of bullet-like emeralds smashed into the attacking demon from all directions, crisscrossing his body, shredding it utterly. Playlist’s remains splattered to the ground, his screenface, cracked and bloody with a huge chunk smashed out of the upper corner, flickered and went dark.

Kakyoin smirked at the remaining Hellions. “And now the rest.”

“Well?” Jotaro said, nodding at the demons. “Come on! You clowns were on a roll before. Why not give me a try?”

“Boss?” Willin’ muttered. “Ideas? Gonna shred him?”

“I can’t move normal iron or steel fast enough to get past [Star Platinum], it’d burn up in the atmosphere.” St. Anger replied. “I’ll have to wait for him to get closer, where my magnetic field is strong enough to pull the iron out of his blood.”

“Want me to pull him into the mirror world?” Thriller whispered. “Kill him there?”

“And leave us here with a feral [Star Platinum]?!” Aoxomoxoa snapped. “Use your head!”

“You gonna make me come over there?” Jotaro said, moving to step forward.

“Jotaro, wait!” Another voice cried out.

A tall, hale older man set down next to the teenager, suspended from on high by a stream of thorny, purple vines. “That tall one has something up his sleeve!”

“Great,” Aoxomoxoa said, clapping his hand to his head. “Joseph Joestar’s here, too? Who else is going to join this party?”

“<I’ve been promised a lot of coffee gum if I make your ugly asses into a pile of uglier corpses!>” A small, pugnacious-looking Boston Terrier yapped, scampering up next to the other Crusaders. “<Let’s do this.>”

“What do you sense, Old Man?” Jotaro said.

Joseph pointed to St. Anger. “Him. His powers are magnetic in nature. Like any magnet, his power drops significantly off with distance. I can just barely feel his pull on my artificial hand from here, I estimate his upper range to be ten meters but once you get within five meters, he’d be able to pull the iron straight out of your blood! Remember the fight with the security guards? That’s about where all the bullets stopped.”

“You let the others fight us first to gauge our abilities,” said St. Anger. “Well played.”

“And him, the rat, he can shrink and resize people and objects at will, but has to touch them with that talon first.”

Willin’ curled his lip and spat. “A lucky guess!”

“The bird-one can pull people into any reflective surface, like those made from the bullets and scattered all around, it’s effectively teleporting!”

“Please!” Thriller scoffed. “It’s way cooler than simple teleporting!”

“And that ugly, eye-covered hand-walking torso-thing!”

“Hey!” Aoxomoxoa exclaimed, outraged. “Uncalled for!”

“He can create a gas that can accelerate the aging of anyone that breathes it!”

“What?! That’s bullshit!” Aoxomoxoa slammed his fist on the ground hard hard enough to crack the cement. “I haven’t done a goddamned thing since I got here! How could you have possibly guessed that?!”

“I didn’t!” Joseph held up a fan of card. “I read the bios on the trading cards that red guy dropped.”

St. Anger and the rest slowly turned and glared at Willin’, who could only chuckle nervously and shrug. “Any publicity is good publicity?”

“Whatever,” said St. Anger, turning back to the Stardust Crusaders. “You may be powerful Stand-Users… and Joseph.”

“Say that to my face, clown!” Joseph growled.

“But you are no match for us.”

“Ah huh,” said Jotaro, adjusting his cap. “Way I see it, you can stay there behind that field of yours, safe from my [Star Platinum], but you’re not scoring any goals by playing defensively. You need to grab something from here and bug out, that much is clear, and you’re not doing that while we’re in your way. So either attack or fuck off back to your shithole afterlife.”

“No.” St. Anger said, folding his arms. “We’re content to wait.”

“For what, us to die of old age?”

St. Anger looked over at Aoxomoxoa, whose eyes narrowed in a malicious smile. “Yes, actually.”

An alarmed bark drew Jotaro’s attention. “<What the hell?!>”

He turned around to see Iggy, his muzzle gray and stout in the way that old, well-fed dogs tend to be. Jotaro looked over at Joseph, who looked only somewhat more wizened than usual. He reached up and felt his face, his chiseled jawline had become more pronounced, his featured harder and indelibly more mature.

“Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!” Aoxomoxoa cackled, tentacles at the bottom of his torso writhing with glee. “Weren’t you listening, brat? I can age people into dust! I’ve been slowly seeping my gas into the air this whole time, it just now reached concentrations that you started to notice! You may as well fling yourself into St. Anger’s field and let him kill you clean! As is, you have maybe a minute before you die of piss-dribbling old age! Some of you even sooner!”

Jotaro’s gaze snapped back to Iggy, who had collapsed to the ground, his eyes glazed with cataracts, toothless mouth wheezing a pathetic squeaky bark. His keen green eyes moved onto Joseph, who, while still hale and healthy, looked noticeably older. Jotaro looked down at his own hand, seeing his supple, youthful flesh pull taught, veins and liver spots beginning to show. He looked down at the cold dead corpses on the floor; some were collapsing into dust, but others were unaffected. His eyes flashed as a revelation hit.

“Good grief,” Jotaro scoffed. “What a scumbag power. Aging people until they’re too old to defend themselves.”

“More than that!” Aoxomoxoa said. “I can age you right until you die! I can age your body into dust!”

[Jotaro pointed at some of corpses on the ground. “So why aren’t they aging?”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NFjE5A4UAJI)

Aoxomoxoa blinked, a look of dawning regret shimmering in his eyes.

“Ah, see,” Jotaro said, the beginnings of crows feet forming about his eyes. “You went and said too much, didn’t you? We’re all aging at different rates, Iggy is the fastest, then me, then Gramps. At first I figured it was because dogs age faster than humans, and Gramps has that magic bullshit breathing he does to slow it down. But then I saw the bodies. Dead men don’t age, right? But some are turning to dust, some aren’t. Why? The answer: temperature.”

“Shit.” Aoxomoxoa shook his head “Me and my big mouth…”

“That’s right.” Jotaro ran his finger across the visor of his cap. “I learned in biology class that dogs have a higher internal temperature than humans, and that humans get colder when they age. Not by much, but it’s there. That’s why I’m aging faster than Gramps, I’m younger and warmer. So the newer corpses are still warm enough to get it, with the gas getting in through the bullet holes, but the older, colder bodies have cooled just enough for the gas to take longer. If the temperature threshold is that low…”

[Star Platinum] burst forward. “ ** _ORA!_** ”

The mighty Stand began to inhale and all the air in the room rushed in, taking the gas with it. Soon it was all sucked up into the Stand’s barrel chest.

“What are you doing?!” Aoxomoxoa cried. “You’re concentrating the gas! You’ll age even faster now!”  
Jotaro’s face wizened and creased, wrinkles and spots showing on his skin, he’d aged thirty additional years in seconds, but his voice was just as strong and commanding. “I’m not concentrating it, you moron. I’m compressing it. Do you know what happens when you compress a gas?”

“N-no!” Aoxomoxoa stammered, eyes wide in shock. “Impossible!”

“It gets colder!”  
[Star Platinum] exhaled in a mighty heave, the rush of air and gas like a gelid arctic gale, frost and ice swirling around the room. Soon, the inside of the room was like a brisk winter’s day, their breaths white puffs in the air.

Iggy instantly reverted back to his youthful self, eyes blazing with fury as he locked Aoxomoxoa with a baleful glare. “< _ **Dibs.**_ >”

“Oh, shit,” Aoxomoxoa muttered.

“That was some quick thinking, Jotaro!” Joseph cheered. “I’m no expert, but I’d say this room’ll stay too cold for him to age us for at least twenty minutes!”

“That’s twenty minutes more than I need,” said Jotaro walking forward.

St. Anger watched incredulously as Jotaro fearlessly approached his inner radius. “Fool. Your [Star Platinum] may be fast, but I’ll form a razorblade in your heart before you can get into range.”

Jotaro continued forward, seven meters… six meters… five…

St. Anger smirked.

…Four…

His red-within-black eyes snapped open. “What?”

“Boss?!” 

Willin’ moved to aim his M16 when a studded purple fist flashed out, shattering the weapon and catching the rat-demon under the jaw in a massive uppercut. “ _ **ORA!!**_ ”

Willin’ rocketed upwards, crashing into the walkways high overhead with enough force to crumple the steel. Thriller yelped and vanished, bare instants later [Star Platinum]’s fist smashed through the air where his head had been. St. Anger grit his teeth and recoiled as [Star Platinum] unleashed a barrage of punches at him.

“ ** _ORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORA!!_** ”

A high musical ringing composed of hundreds of notes underscored the Stand’s cries, St. Anger stood unharmed, his eight immutable Seraphic bells hovering before him in a protective wall. [Star Platinum] roared and loosed a devastating punch at the bells, which withstood the blow but knocked the demonic jester backwards. St. Anger growled in frustration and caught himself mid-air, levitating to a safe distance.

“What’s going on?” He hissed. “Something’s interfering with my powers!”

“That’s right!” Joseph exclaimed, [Hermit Purple] writhing. “Using my [Hermit Purple], I mapped out your magnetic field! You constantly have a cloud of iron nanoparticles surrounding you, I had Iggy use [The Fool] to couple each magnetically charged iron particle with a minute grain of dust. Like a sandstorm in the desert, these dust particles react with the charged iron particles to produce a counteractive static-electric field! Your area of effect has been halved, protecting Jotaro while putting you within range of his [Star Platinum]!”

St. Anger set down on the ground, not taking his eyes off Jotaro. “Well played, Mr. Joestar. It was wrong of me to impugn your skills. For that, I apologize.”

Joseph smiled and polished his nails on his shirt. “Graciously accepted.”

“Don’t go clapping yourself on the back just yet, Old Man,” said a voice to Joseph’s right. “He just means that you’ve gone from being a nuisance to a threat. And threats…”

Joseph turned to see one of the reflective discs lodged in the chest of a guard, in it was the crow-demon, his hands wrapped around the arm of Joseph’s reflection. Joseph looked down at his arm and cried out in alarm as it began to break apart and vanish, pulled into the mirror world.

“…Are dealt with!”

“J-Jotaro!” Joseph called out before vanishing, leaving only the writhing vines of [Hermit Purple] in a pile on the ground.

Jotaro turned away from St. Anger for a moment. “Gramps? What–?”

A high, musical tinkling caused him to whirl around, just barely deflecting the silvery bell before it punched through his skull at hypersonic speeds. Jotaro grunted and looked at his forearm, there was a tear where [Star Platinum] had deflected the hit, an angry welt forming on his skin.

“Just as I thought,” St. Anger said, lifting himself into the air, his bells orbiting around him like the shell of an atom. “Even Stands are vulnerable to holy metal.”

St. Anger looked up to the rat-demon, still ensconced in warped steel. “Willin’! Stop resting and help Aoxomoxoa with the mutt!”

“<I’m pure-bred, asshole!>”

Willin’ sighed and bent the steel away from him and hopped down to the floor next to Aoxomoxoa. “What say we deal with Ol’ Yeller?”

“Time to let Old Painless out the bag.”

Willin’ produced his cigarette-case arsenal and produced a tiny black shape, the next instant it had expanded into an M134 with an underslung ammo drum. Aoxomoxoa snatched the weapon in the tentacles extruding from the bottom of his torso, leveling all six barrels at the small terrier.

Willin’ produced an M60 machine-gun and grinned. “Let’s dance, Rin Tin Tin!”

Iggy rolled his eyes. “<Bitch, are you for real?>”

St. Anger hovered towards Jotaro, the bells spinning after and faster, glowing as the air around them began to shift into plasma, heat rolling off them in waves. “Any last words, boy?”

“Just one.” [Star Platinum launched forward, roaring. “ _ **ORAAAAAA!!**_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Predictions? Post 'em in the comments!


	6. Colosseum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness update guys! This has been a crazy past couple of weeks for me. And everyone else, I guess.
> 
> Anyway! Chapter 6: More FIGHTING

Chapter 6: Colosseum 

Kakyoin regarded the remaining demons with flat distaste, his arms crossed. “Now, what do I do with the lot of you?”

“Uh…” Millie ventured, smiling nervously. “Let us go?”

“No.”

“Darn.”

Michael leapt out in front of Millie, teeth bared. “You’ll have to go through me if you want to get to them!”

“I was going to go through you anyway,” Kakyoin scoffed, [Hierophant Green] appearing before him. “But if you’re volunteering…”

  
[Hierophant Green] prepared an Emerald Splash for the demons when Moxxie leapt over one of the cover walls and grabbed Millie by the hand. “Sammy! Gabriel! Roundabout!”  


“I’ll be a rouuuuuundabout!” The grinning demon cackled, fabricating a GAU-19.

Kakyoin didn’t move as the demon unleashed a storm of thumb-sized armor-piercing rounds down the enclosed hallway. Crisscrossing strands of [Hierophant Green] flared and shimmered as they intercepted the deadly barrage, leaving the schoolboy and his thrall unharmed. The deafening roar of the rotary cannon cut off abruptly as the ammo drum ran dry, leaving only the buzzing whir of the weapon’s electric motor could be heard.

[Hierophant Green] swept up next to the homunculus, a pillar of thick green fluid rushing between its hands. “You didn’t actually think that was going to work, did you?”

“Nope!”

Kakyoin blinked in surprise and spun around to see Gabriel popping up from the floor, an M2 flamethrower in his hands. “Deflect this, Pretty Boy!”

The flamethrower roared like a dragon, heat and like filled the hallway. Kakyoin grunted in surprise as [Hierophant Green] yanked him backwards just in time to escape the enormous pillar of orange flame. His thralled Junior was not as lucky and was instantly enveloped in sticky, burning napalm. Kakyoin skidded to a halt amongst the demons, who each drew a weapon on him.

[Hierophant Green] was among them in an instant, tendrils wrapping about the Imps and flinging them away. The Stand barely twitched as Samael smashed his GAU-19 over its head, shattering it. [Hierophant Green] sent him sprawling with a rush of tentacles, it turned around just in time to catch a heavy punch across the face from Michael. Kakyoin grunted and stumbled, a fine spray of blood erupting from his mouth, his sunglasses clattering across the floor.

“Oh, yeah,” said Michael, examining his fists. “Only Stands can harm Stands.”

He unleashed a rush of punches at [Hierophant Green], who blocked a few before unravelling into a mass of loose tendrils, reforming behind him, Emerald Splash forming between his hands. Moxxie and Millie leapt out and tackled Michael to the floor just as a blast of emeralds shredded the air where he stood not one second before. Gabriel and Samael rushed to their family’s aide, heavy weapons blazing. Moxxie, Millie, and Michael leapt to their feet, weapons drawn, and joined in pouring the fire on Kakyoin. [Hierophant Green] effortlessly blocked and redirected the bullets, but sheer volume ensured a few fragments got through. Kakyoin flinched as a shard of copper jacket whizzed by, slicing a thin cut across his cheek. [Hierophant Green] pulled back and gathered up its user, lifting him off his feet and carrying him down the hallway.

“That was stupid of me,” said Kakyoin, his scarred eyes blazing at them as he drew his thumb over the cut. “I got overconfident. I allowed you monsters to herd me about like a sheep. Well, I hope you all enjoyed yourselves, because now I’m–”

The door to the janitor’s closet blew off its hinges, smashing hard into the far side of the hall. Out stepped Truly, his vines writhing and eyes blazing. He locked his gaze on Kakyoin and then to the Imps and Juniors. “You guys got a handle on this?”

Moxxie gestured at the mutilated heaps that used to be Good Vibrations, Playlist, and the Juniors. “Uh… no?”

“Pity.”

“You could, uh, help us?” Millie said, hopeful.

“Yes,” said Truly, tapping his fingers together. “I could… hypothetically… do that.”

He reached up and ripped off a vent grate, his body disassembling into a mass of vines and slithering up into the shaft. “I believe in you!”

Moxxie sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Prick.”

“Abandoned by your teammates,” said Kakyoin, shaking his head. “I almost feel bad.”

[Hierophant Green] hovered towards them, glassy eyes cold and pitiless, hands cupped together. “Almost.”

  
Deeply flew backwards into a bulkhead with enough force to buckle the steel. He grimaced in pain for a moment, red eyes snapping open in shock. He managed to rally and move just in time to avoid a flurry of slashes. Deeply rolled across the floor and leaped off the opposite wall at his assailant, talons stopped just shy of the cocky Frenchman standing before him, arms crossed. A shimmering silver blade held them at bay, the green eyes of the armored Stand glaring into his.

“Not so much fun now, is it?” Polnareff said, offering a cold chuckle. “Now that you’re the powerless one.”

“Powerless?!” Deeply growled, spitting blood and redoubling his attack. “Mortal fool! You may have speed and power, but your Stand is inflexible and limited! I’ll find a way past your–GHRK!”

[Silver Chariot]’s sword stabbed through his mouth, piercing the cheek on one side and hooking under the demon’s jaw on the other. With a flick, the demon was sent flying down the hall. He thrust his talons into the floor, slowing himself down. Polnareff launched after him, [Silver Chariot] at the ready. As soon as his foot set down on the floor, the steel panel groaned and buckled, cracks spidering out before shattering like glass, causing Polnareff to stumble.

“I stole the strength from that steel!” Deeply exclaimed, launching himself at the stymied human. “Footwork is half of swordsmanship! Let’s see how well you fight on a sheet of glass!”

The air split with a resounding crack as his fingertips broke the sound barrier, their points making a bee-line for Polnareff’s throat. 

Polnareff smirked.

[Silver Chariot] flew upwards, its feet planting on the ceiling. At the same time it grabbed Polnareff by the back of his pants and hoisted him up, setting his feet down on the ceiling too.

“Only half.”

Deeply set his foot down on the brittle steel, smashing through it. [Silver Chariot] unleashed a flurry of slashes to the off-balance demon, sparks flying from his flesh. 

Deeply sneered up at Polnareff, completely unharmed. “The strength I stole from the steel, I applied to myself! You can’t hurt me with those pathetic slashes!”

“So I can stop holding back, then?”

“Wh–” Deeply began to say when [Silver Chariot]’s sword plunged in to his open mouth, bursting out the back of his head with the shriek of rending metal.

With a turn of its wrist, [Silver Chariot] yanked Deeply off his feet, smashing his head into the ceiling, crumpling the steel plates like paper. A slash sent the demon hurtling back down to the floor.

Polnareff set down on the ground, standing over the dazed hellion. Deeply vomited a surge of black, defiled blood and looked up at him, red eyes huge, terrified, peering through the thicket of wiry black hair. 

Polnareff looked down, eyes blazing. “Yeah… that’s it right there. That fear. That powerlessness. The feeling of being totally at someone’s mercy, of searching for it in their eyes and finding none. I lost someone once to someone like you, she must have looked up at him with that same terror, that same desperation. That’s why killers like you belong in Hell, and I’ll send as many of you there as I can!”

Polnareff wound up for a final blow, his teeth ground as his gaze blazed with righteous fury. A thicket of vines wrapped around [Silver Chariot]’s wrist, stopping it fast.

“What?!”

[Silver Chariot] and, by extension, Polnareff were flung across the room. Truly slithered down from the ceiling vent and coiled around his wounded comrade. “You okay, babe?”

Deeply spat black blood and smiled, relieved. “I am now.”

Truly pressed his forehead against Deeply’s, tears spilling down his cheeks. “I won’t lose you again!”

“What say we show this stinkin’ frog who wears the pants in this relationship?”

“Way ahead of you!”

Truly’s vines wrapped about his lover’s body, burrowing into his flesh, weaving throughout his body with a wet, fleshy tearing sound. 

“Oooh yeah…” Deeply grit his teeth and smiled. “Hurt me, Daddy.”

Truly unwound his body, slithering completely into Deeply, vines bulging out from under his skin like turgid veins, thorns poking through in in places. Deeply got shakily to his feet, his eyes glowing pits of malice peering out from behind his chaotic thicket of wiry black hair. His body bulging and pulsing as his aura flared, glowing like a baleful fire.

“I-in life we were inseparable,” Deeply growled, Truly’s voice overlaying his. “Our Stands made us the perfect intelligence operatives. His divination, my extraction and combat abilities, we were the perfect team. In Hell, we took it to the next level!”

“Mon dieu!” Polnareff exclaimed, eyes wide with horror. “What are you?!”

“Behold!” The bloated, straining demon burst open with a fleshy ripping sound, defiled black blood splattering the walls, and from it another shape rose, a huge, rippling creature with chorded roots for muscles, tatters of meat hanging from the cruel thorns spotting its massive frame. Large, scythe-like talons sprouted from its hands as a dozen, smaller blades bobbed and undulated on long fleshy vines. “We are! Truly Madly Deeply!”

“Tch!” Polnareff adopted a fighting stance, [Silver Chariot] followed suit. ‘That’ll teach me for playing around. I wonder how the others are doing…’

  
Blackbird streaked down the hallway, skates sending clouds of pulverized ice in his wake, the fury of his leg-strokes a blur beneath him. He summoned a reflective sheet of ice and held it up to look over his shoulder. Behind him, gliding on a cloud of steam like a genie, was Avdol, an infuriating smirk on his face as [Magician’s Red] vaporized the very ice Blackbird was laying down. Avdol streaked forward, pulling up alongside the snarling demon and unleashed a barrage of fireballs. Blackbird blocked them with blasts of his demonic essence, manifesting huge sickle-like talons and swiping at the fortune teller. Avdol manifested a gauntlet of flame over his own arm and intercepted the attack, vaporizing the talons in a flash of steam.

“Got you!” Blackbird growled, a sharp grin leering out from behind his visor.

He felt his hand grasp a muscular forearm within the cloud of steam, it would be a simple matter for a demon such as himself to tear a human limb-from limb. He gave a great yank and was astonished to find that his quarry held fast, resisting his colossal strength. The steam cleared and he could see his hand grabbing not Avdol’s wrist, but [Magician’s Red]’s, the Stand superimposed over its user. It grabbed his wrist in one hand and his head in the other, steam shrieking around its fingers as they dug into the living ice that was his cryosuit. He struggled fruitlessly against the Stand’s unbearable strength. [Magician’s Red] opened its beak and roared as a furious inferno blazed within.

“Cross Fire Hurricane!”

Blackbird screamed in terror as the flaming ankh engulfed his body, his cryosuit rippling and warping under the intense heat, shattering into shards which then evaporated into nothingness. A pair of steaming legs clattered to the ground, hollow shells of ice, [Magician’s Red] tossed the arm to the ground with them, all that remained of the demon.

“Fires hotter than mine await you, beast,” Avdol sneered, dusting off his hands. “May you never leave them again.”

[“Actually, Hell is quite temperate,” a voice said from all around. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DGNAOXxCBvE)

Metal shrieked as a massive icicle burst forth from a nearby pipe and shrieked towards the mystic. “SEE FOR YOURSELF!”

“What?!”

[Magician’s Red] grabbed the icicle and vaporized it, controlling the steam effortlessly and depositing a roiling ball of the stuff in Avdol’s hand.

“How are you doing that?!” The disembodied voice roared.

Avdol turned around to see a wispy mass of cryogenic gas whirling about, forming the rough shape of feline humanoid, its red eyes floating above a snarling crescent of glacial blue teeth. A dull crackling filled the hall as the gasses of the air itself were frozen solid, condensing over the gaseous demon, layer after layer, until Blackbird’s armor had completely reformed. 

The icy cat demon’s eyes locked him with a baleful glare from behind the visor as he pointed at the steam. “That steam went from frozen to vapor instantly, it should be hundreds of degrees! How is it not burning you?!”

Avdol chuckled and gestured at the steam in his hand. “[Magician’s Red]’s flames burn what I say to burn! Look closely at the steam and you’ll see countless minuscule flames, each paired with a particle of water, allowing me to control it. That’s why ice is no match for my Stand, I can manifest flames inside the separated gas pockets within the ice itself, allowing me to burn within it!”

“THAT’S FUCKING STUPID!” Blackbird roared, punching a nearby wall hard enough to crater it. “The Stand energy of your flames should transmit from the water molecules as thermal energy!”

“Should.” Avdol separated the steam into eight balls and juggled them, a mocking smile on his face, before shoving them back together and squashing the ball of steam utterly, hands clasped as though in prayer. “Doesn’t.”

Blackbird grit his teeth and gurgled with rage, ice sheets floated in the air around him as the gasses froze with his fury.

“Now tell me your name, demon!”

“Why?!”

Avdol smirked, hands moving through a series of arcane gestures. “Because I want Hell itself to know that I defeated you!”

“I will not be defeated by some mortal stage magician!” Blackbird growled. “I am the icy hand of death itself! The Cryogenic Killer! Entropy on legs! I am the heat death of the universe! I! Am! Blackbird!!”

A pause hung in the air.

Avdol scratched under his headband. “But… you’re a white cat?”

“GRAAAAAAAGH!!” Blackbird bellowed, eyes glowing deep crimson as his cryosuit began to crack. “OH, LIKE YOU CAN TALK! WHAT EVEN IS YOUR NAME?! AVDOL? AVDOL?! THAT’S NOT AN ARABIC NAME! IT SHOULD BE ABDUL! ABDUL! NOT AVDOL! WHOEVER HEARD OF A MUHAMMAD AVDOL?! IT PISSES ME OFF!!”

The seams of his armor split open and out poured a rush of cryogenic demonic essence. Blackbird’s face hung in air within the gaseous form, his suit still standing, now empty. Five more suits formed within the deathly-cold abyss that was Blackbird’s true form, each adopting a fighting stance. A razor-sharp sword of ice shrieked through the air, having appeared from apparently nowhere. Avdol flinched and [Magician’s Red] vaporized the sword, only for five more to appear just as abruptly. Avdol ducked and wove around the blades, deflecting some and destroying others, when one of the suits materialized out of thin air to his right, unleashing a savage uppercut to Avdol’s midsection. The mystic grunted, bloody spittle spraying from his mouth as he was lifted clean off his feet. The empty suit delivered a spin-kick and sent him flying down the hall.

Advol shakily got to his feet, wiping the blood from his chin. “What power is this?”

“HA!” The giant, gaseous demon barked, his six empty cryosuits appearing at various places in the hallway. “This is my true power! I can operate these suits remotely with thin tendrils of my icy essence! But that’s not all! When my essence is unleashed, I can create cryogenic fields so intense that I shift the atmosphere into a quantum superposition of states! In this form it neither absorbs nor deflects photons, but constrains them! That’s right! I can freeze light itself! My puppet-suits and attacks are invisible at my will! You’ll never even see the killing blow!”

“Is that supposed to impress me?” Avdol smirked and got to his feet, [Magician’s Red] issuing a defiant roar. “I’ve been a mystic along the proud and mysterious Nile my whole life, it’ll take more than a vanishing trick to so much as raise my brow, demon!”

The huge fanged face smirked, his suits vanishing once more. “You’ll eat those words, after I freeze them and shove them down your throat!”

  
Joseph groaned and shook head head, slowly rising to his feet. He bent over and picked up his hat, dusting it off and looking around. It was the same room as he had been in before, only it was now completely empty, even the bodies of the guards were absent. He scratched his chin, taking in his surroundings when a large chunk of debris blasted out from the walls, forming a huge gouge in the concrete. Joseph flinched when hundreds of tiny holes peppered the wall and floor opposite him in a long line, as though chasing something small running across the floor.

“Iggy,” Joseph murmured, watching as another crater appeared, this time in the floor. “And Jotaro. That’s where they are, but where am I?”

“You’re in trouble!”

Joseph spun around and caught a fist across his face. He barely had enough time to recoil when the crow-demon unleashed a barrage of punches to his torso, capping the assault off with a ferocious roundhouse that sent the old man sprawling on the ground. Thriller strolled over as Joseph collected himself off the ground, arms crossed in victory.

“Oh, don’t tell me those little taps did you in already, Gramps!”

Joseph reached out with his hand open. “[Hermit Purple]!”

Nothing happened.

Thriller cackled as Joseph gawped at his hand, slapping his knee in a mockery of goodnatured amusement. “You idiot! You really think I’d let you bring your Stand into my mirror world? Oh, no! It’s just you and me in here, geezer! No guns, no Stands, just our fists and fighting spirit! Think I’ll bat you around a bit before I pull you apart!”

Thriller leapt forward and aimed a sweeping kick at Joseph’s midsection, only for the spry old man to roll with the kick, stepping in close and planting a hard, heavy elbow to the demon’s solar plexus. Thriller flinched back with a surprised grunt when fist popped up and caught him under the jaw, causing his head to snap up with a violent jerk. Dazed, he stumbled backwards, Joseph swept his uneven feet out from under him and sent the falling demon smashing into the hard concrete with a lightning-fast axe-kick. 

Joseph cackled as the crow demon glared up at him from the floor, his dark goggles shattered to reveal shining purple eyes, gleaming with surprise and fury. “I saw that kick coming from a mile away! You’re no martial artist, that’s for sure. You just thought you’d get a helpless old man all on his own and beat him to death, you vulture! Well, I got news for you, sonny, not too long ago I was one of the best martial artists on the planet! Stand or no Stand, I can still whup an amateur like you!”

Thriller roared and sprung off the ground with inhuman speed and lunged for Joseph, taloned hands flexing, aimed for his throat.

“ZOOM PUNCH!” Joseph cried, his arm elongating unnaturally as the joints separated.

His metal fist smashed into the demon’s face with a keening buzz, bright yellow sparks arced and flashed across his demonic flesh. Thriller was sent stumbling back, the rage in his eyes replaced with shock.

“You bumbling idiot!” Joseph said, rolling out his shoulder and wincing. “I may be a little rusty with my Hamon, but it’s more than enough for a feathered dumbass like you!”

He held in his hand a bunch of feathers he had ripped from Thriller’s scalp, with a short exhale Hamon crackled about the demonic, otherworldly matter and destroyed them utterly.

Thriller gasped, touching the raw, burned patch on his cheek where he had been struck.

“Just as I thought! Your foul bodies only exist on Earth because they’re held together with dark energies! Hamon purges these energies and replaces them with life, causing the demonic matter to evaporate!” He dusted the remains off of his hand, pointing to the spellbound avian. “I’m no spring chicken, but this old rooster has enough brass in his pants to puck a turkey like you!”

Thriller shot to his feet and growled, clenching his hands into fists. “You think so, you old bastard? I’ve got a few surprises of my own!”

Joseph snapped his fingers and chuckled. “The next thing you’ll say is ‘I can transform!’, right?”

[“Oh,” Thriller clapped his hand to his forehead. “Right! Shit, that’s way better than what I was gonna do. Thanks for reminding me.”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hTu1436xcF4)

“Wait, you can what-now?” Joseph said, a crease of worry in his brow.

Thriller’s body bloated like a feathery balloon, his clothes bursting apart as he expanded. His feathers stood on end, fuzzy with static as energy surged from within. With a sound not unlike an elastic band snapping, the feathery sphere imploded, wrapping itself taught around a much larger, more muscular form. Before Joseph stood a towering, monstrous tengu, nine feet of muscle, talons, and terror. His cruel razor-sharp beak split open in a roar, revealing layer after layer of serrated teeth.

“Who’s the turkey now, old man?” Thriller bellowed. “Ya got some fancy kung-fu bullshit to get outta this?!”

“As a matter of fact, I do!” Joseph chuckled, adopting a fighting stance. “I’ve got a special technique for just such an occasion, one that never fails!”

Joseph pointed over Thriller’s mountainous, rippling shoulder. “Jotaro?! How did you get in here?!”

Thriller squawked and spun around, purple eyes glowing with fear. “What?!”

The room was empty.

Thriller turned back around to see Joseph sprinting towards a nearby door. “He who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” Thriller rolled his eyes before leaping forwards, streaking towards his fleeing prey. “Nowhere to run to, Old Man! That door–”

Joseph opened the door and ran through it, slamming the heavy steel door shut behind him.

“What?!”

Thriller smashed face-first into the door, the tip of his toothy beak shearing through the steel as the rest buckled under his terrible weight.

“Ow.”

“Wait.” Joseph turned back and tapped him on the beak. “Do you not even know your own powers?”

“Y’know, in all my years in Hell, no-one’s ever thought to run away while in the mirror world. They just, I dunno, assume it’s only the reflected room.” He communicated a shrug the best he could with just his beak.

“Including yourself?”

“Look, man, I just use my powers for work,” Thriller said, defensive. “I don’t have time to go all Alice in Wonderland and fuck about in the looking glass, y’know?”

“Then you only have yourself to blame for this,” said Joseph, charging up a surge of Hamon. “Hamon overdrive!”

With all his might he punched the beak, sending a large surge of Hamon into the trapped demon. The overall effect was minimal, the alt-form of this demon apparently much more resistant to Hamon.

It still hurt.

“AAAGH!” Thriller roared. “You fucker!”

“Feets don’t fail me now!” Joseph cried as he took off down the hallway.

Thriller tore through the steel like it was paper, his massive frame unable to stand upright in the hallway. “I’m coming for you, you piece of shit! I’m coming for you!”

  
Willin’ grunted as the [The Fool] swatted him high into the air, sending him bouncing off a steel gantry and tumbling limply back down to the corpse-strewn floor.

“Gotcha!”

The minigun roared, a storm of copper-jacketed steel shrieked through the air, shredding the concrete just bare inches behind the little dog, sliding about frictionlessly on a cushion of sand, a bored look on his face.

“Hold still you little shit!” Aoxomoxoa growled, swinging the whirring cannon about.

Iggy complied and planted his little rear on the concrete, looking at the demon expectantly. The minigun screamed smoke and fire as it unleashed hundreds of armor penetrating rounds at the dog. A slash of hitherto invisible sand reared up from the floor, absorbing the deadly assault.

“[Kinda useless without your aging powers, aren’t ya?]” Iggy said, scratching his ear. “[You and the rat. The most dangerous of you dipshits is the clown, which is appropriate, I guess.]”

Aoxomoxoa leapt high into the air, clasping to the sheer wall high over Iggy’s head and let off another burst of fire at the Boston Terrier. Once again, a swath of sand materialized, seemingly from nowhere, and absorbed the barrage. A huge paw extended from a nearby concrete wall, swirling and forming from its otherwise pristine surface. Aoxomoxoa turned around just in time to see the giant paw bearing down on him, may eyes wide. The smashed into him, tearing him off the wall, crushing him underfoot on the floor below. The huge limb pulled back into the wall and disappeared, leaving the battered, bloody form of Aoxomoxoa, wounds oozing a silvery, translucent substance on the floor, his M134 a shattered ruin.

Iggy sniffed and pawed at a piece of concrete, reforming it into a stick of gum before returning it to its original state and strolling over to the squashed demon. “[Neat trick, huh? See, this stuff feels like rock, but it’s mostly sand. I dunno what the humans did to it to make it stick together, but it’s pretty easy to pull apart once I figured out what it was. The whole building is made of this shit, too. You’re basically fighting me inside my Stand. I always thought I was unbeatable anyway, this is just icing on the cake!]”

A hole exploded on Iggy’s head as a high velocity bullet tore through his skull, leaving a neat little hole between the terrier’s wide, buggy eyes. A few meters away, holding a smoking M82, was Willin’.

“Turn your back on me, will you?” Willin’ hissed, shrinking the bulky weapon back down.

“[You want me to look at you?]” Iggy growled, glaring over his shoulder, sand ringing the hole his head. “[Okay, rat. You got my attention.]”

“What the–?!”

The concrete below Willin’ shifted and morphed into a taloned paw, which scooped up the scrambling rat-demon and hoisting him high into the air. The little terrier with a hole in his head dissolved into the concrete as [The Fool] manifested itself, its masked face glaring at the helpless demon in its grasp. Iggy rose out of its forehead and scampered along its beak-like mouth, sitting and grinning at Willin’.

“[Like a rat in a trap,]” snickered Iggy. “[You know, I remember some asshole saying Boston Terriers were rat-dogs. I laid the fucker out and stole his burger. Wasn’t until later that I learned that ‘rat-dog’ actually means ‘a dog that kills rats’. Ironic, isn’t it?]”

“Pretty sure that’s not irony. Lemme let you in on a little secret…” He wrestled one hand free and resized a hand-grenade, pulling the pin with his thumb. “No-one likes a yappy dog!”

Iggy gasped and scrambled back into [The Fool] as Willin’ squeezed his eyes shut and turned away from the grenade right next to his head. “This is gonna smart.”

[The Fool]’s paw was consumed in a flash of light as an ear-rending explosion filled the room. A cloud of sand issued forth as a smoldering body was sent cartwheeling through the air, tumbling and bouncing along the corpse-strewn floor.

Iggy rose up from the floor, [The Fool] mirroring his incredulous posture behind him “[You’re crazy! You killed yourself trying to kill me?!]”

“I may not be big and strong like some of the others. I may not be able to freeze light or control iron or whatever, but if there’s one thing I can do…” Willin’ coughed and stirred, slowly, shakily getting to his feet, his clothes a blasted ruin, his fur and hide badly singed, but only that. [“…I can take a helluva beating!”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FLC4h4Ehjak)

Willin’ roared and summoned his demonic essence, his aura undulating wildly. He grit his teeth and raised his arms skyward, each of his fingers sprouting huge, knife-like talons.

Iggy waited a moment for further transformations; when none came he cocked his head to the side. “[What? That’s it? I thought you were gonna, I dunno, get bigger or something.]

Willin’ growled and stomped his foot. “I DON’T NEED TO GET BIGGER TO KICK YOUR ASS!!”

“[I’ve been painting this room with your face for the past five minutes. A pedicure ain’t gonna change that.]”

Willin’ roared and launched himself at the little dog, talons flexing. A sandy paw reached up from the floor and grabbed at the rat-demon. Willin’ smirked and appeared to phase straight through the solid column of sand and continued charging onward.

“[What?]!”

“With my power unleashed, I can instantly shrink down to the size of an atom! I can slip right through solid matter!” Willin’ cackled and slashed at the dog with his talons. “I’ll see you in Hell!”

The talons caught the little dog in a diagonal slash, parting his body into three pieces. The stricken dog smiled and dissolved into sand, which formed a spear and stabbed out at Willin’. He growled and swatted the spear aside. 

“You can’t hide forever, mutt!”

  
St. Anger rose into the air, four bells shrieking through the air fast enough to glow white hot. [Star Platinum] roared and batted three aside, blocking the fourth as it weave past its fists. Jotaro grunted as he felt another welt form on his forearm. He manifested his Stand’s leg within his own and leapt up at the demonic clown, [Star Platinum] unleashing a murderous maelstrom of fists. The four remaining bells appeared between them, bobbing and weaving, absorbing the blows with high, musical notes overlapping like machine gun fire. [Star Platinum] grabbed one of the bells and swung around the indestructible wall, landing a powerful kick to St. Anger’s midsection. The jester was sent streaking to the ground like a shooting star, landing hard on the concrete. He gasped and panted as he tried to regain his lost breath, red-within-black eyes snapping open wide as a shadow fell over him. St. Anger pulled himself out of the way just in time to avoid a savage right hook from [Star Platinum], the force of the blow tearing a massive gouge out of the reinforced concrete.

“You fully live up to your reputation, Jotaro Kujo,” said St. Anger, rising to his feet, his seraphic bells hovering around him. “Oh, yes. You’re quite well known in Hell. you and your bloodline. Some of the most powerful demons are there because of you.”

“You think flattery is going to save you?” Jotaro said, strolling towards him at a leisurely pace.

St. Anger smirked. “No. But it makes for a good distraction.”

Jotaro stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide as he felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his neck. He launched himself backwards with [Star Platinum] and, phasing its fingers through his flesh, carefully extracted a bloody razor blade.

“Useless mutt…” he grumbled, flicking the razor away.

“Looks like Willin’ has the dog’s full attention now,” said St. Anger, raising his arms as his bells began to spin, orbiting him in ever-wider circles. “Without him countering my magnetic field, I far out-range you. Not even [Star Platinum] can–”

“ORA!!”

A fist-sized chunk of concrete whistled through the air straight for St. Anger’s head. A spinning bell streaked forward and pulverized the projectile, turning it into a cloud of dust. A huge, studded fist burst from the dust cloud, Jotaro and [Star Platinum] hurtled through the air towards the demon clown. St. Anger barely had time to take a step back when that fist smashed into his cheek with a sickening crunch. The mighty Stand rained down blows on the stunned demon, a flurry of fists and sonic booms filled the air.

“ORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORA!!”

The bells swooped in, white-hot spinning discs hotter than any star. Jotaro leapt straight up some ten meters, grabbing onto a hand rail and hauling himself onto a walk-way.

St. Anger spat a mouthful of blood and glared up at the human, eyes glowing pits of red. “When I get back to Hell, I’m taking your head with me. I’ll mount it on my mantel! Everyone will know that I, St. Anger, killed Jotaro Kujo!”

“That’s the closest you’ve come to making me laugh since I got here,” Jotaro called down. “You really are a shit clown, you know that?”

St. Anger growled and took flight, deadly seraphic bells buzzing like murderous hornets.

  
Blitzo groaned from within his crater, the atomized concrete was actually pretty comfy, if it hadn’t been his body that had made it that way, of course. 

Everything hurt.

Pulverized flesh screamed over shattered bones, his oh-so-professional suit had actually been fused into his skin in places by the hideously powerful blows, and there was something lodged in the back of his nose, hard and sharp. One of his horns had been snapped off at the base and throbbed like a broken tooth. He grit the few teeth still in his mouth and willed himself to move. It would take more than getting utterly, savagely pummeled to keep good ol’ Blitzo-Krieg down!

Blitzo peeled himself out of the crater and plopped down to the cold, hard concrete with a sound that was closer to a ‘splat’ than a ‘thud’. The room spun and tinnitus came and went in waves. Blitzo notched a knuckle into his nostril and blew out the other one, hard. Out of his nose came a bloody tooth, he picked it up off the ground and examined it: bicuspid. He grabbed one of the mirror-surfaced discs St. Anger had scattered about the room and looked at him self. Whatever on his face that was a swollen, purpled wreck was either bleeding or both, his eye was nearly swollen shut and his jaw seemed canted off to one side. He located where the tooth had been in his ruined gum-line and stuck it back in, smiling a gapped, bloody smile into the mirror.

“All better.”

Blitzo shakily got to his feet and looked around the room. Willin’ was fighting the dog, who appeared to be able to freely control sand which he could create from concrete. The fight was going about as well as one might expect. High over his head was St. Anger, death-bells glowing, exchanging fearsome blows with that tall, scary, incredibly powerful teenager. Blitzo decided that he was going to let his fellow super-assassins fight this out for themselves. It was the only honorable thing to do.

“Ooh! Ooh!” Blitzo slurred, clapping his mangled hands together. “I can be a cheerleader! Give my brothers a much-needed morale boost! But where am I gonna find some pom-poms?”

He looked around the room, his eyes lighting up as he found a door. “Bingo!”

He hobbled over to the door and, grabbing one of the corpses off the ground. He set its thumb and eye to the scanner and punched in the code he’d seen St. Anger use. The door clicked and buzzed, opening with a muted ‘whoosh’.

“Be right back, guys! Don’t win without me!” He called out over the din, tossing the corpse aside.

Blitzo walked through the door and into a dimly lit room filled with all manner of machines, computer consoles, and huge black power cables, thick as pythons. He silently padded over, seeing a small group of scientists and security personnel clustered around one of the consoles, on the various screens were Blitzo’s besieged teammates, each fighting their own human warriors. Blitzo crept up behind one of the security guards and, in a single smooth motion, pulled him into a headlock and drew the guard’s pistol, calmly and quickly dispatching the rest of the humans with clean headshots. He leveled the pistol at the remaining cowering scientist and pulled the trigger.

Click.

“Shit,” Blitzo rolled his eyes. “One second.”

Blitzo reached up and snapped the struggling guard’s neck with a low, meaty crunch. He then plucked a magazine from the dead man’s belt and fed it into the pistol. Blitzo leveled the weapon at the remaining scientist, before snapping his fingers.

“Oh! Wait. You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find some pom-poms would you?”

“P-p-please… don’t…” The scientist stammered, hands raised over his head.

“What? You got something against cheerleaders?” Blitzo growled, pressing the muzzle of the gun against the pudgy little man’s pale, sweaty cheek. “You don’t think I’d look great in a miniskirt?!”

“Please, no! I’m sorry! We didn’t want to bring in those guys, but we didn’t have a choice! We couldn’t let you take it!”

“I’m hearing a lot of stuff that isn’t ‘oh yes, Mr. Handsome Imp Man, I know exactly where you can find a miniskirt and pom-poms!’” Blitzo said, cocking the hammer. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t paint this drab, gray computer a lovely shade of brain.”

“Y-your team! They’re not doing so well,” stammered the scientist. “I-I can help you save them!”

Blitzo uncocked the hammer and lowered the gun. “I’m listening.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed that! Since I'll be hunkered down with the rest of you, I should have the next chapter out soon!


	7. Overdrive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait, this fic updates?!
> 
> Penultimate chapter, every one!

Chapter 7: Overdrive

“Emerald Splash!”

The scatter-shot of emeralds tore through the air, effortlessly shredding steel and concrete, rupturing frozen pipes and exposing sparking, sputtering wires. Moxxie and Millie ducked and rolled in unison, clasping hands as they leapt their feet, hoofed feet clicking as they stepped through an elaborate tango, pulling one another out of the way of a killer tendril or a screaming blast of emeralds. Millie spun Moxxie out and away from her, a cluster of emeralds obliterating the space he’d occupied a second prior, before spinning him back in and into a graceful dip, Moxxie with pistols akimbo as he mag-dumped at the encroaching teenager. Tentacles flares to life as the bullets were deflected, each one unleashing a small blast super-sonic gems at the Imps. The floor aound them rippled and burst upwards in a wave of cubes, forming a solid barrier. Moxxie and Millie looked around to see their Juniors huddled around them

“Gabriel! Michael! Samael!” Moxxie exclaimed, wiping his brow. “Thanks for the save.”

The Junior smiled a pointy smile. “You got it, Pops! Any ideas on how to ice this dick?”

Moxxie groaned and shook his head. “No! I was expecting priests and wards and arcane rituals, not a schoolboy with a rock-shooting tentacle monster!”

“And not even the fun kind of tentacle monster…” Millie murmured.

“I have no idea what’s going on or why!” Moxxie lamented, clutching his head in his hands. “This is all so fucking bizarre!”

“Alright then,” said Michael, clearing his throat. “Quick rundown: that ‘tentacle monster’ out there is something called a Stand. It is the psychic manifestation of a person’s spirit. They have all kinds of powers and limitations, but all you really need to know is this: Only Stands can harm Stands, and any damage done to a Stand is reflected on the Stand-User. His is a long-range type, not very precise or durable, but able to act over long distances and, in the confines of this hallway, is able to protect the user quite well regardless.”

“Oh.” Moxxie pause and muddled this over for a bit. “Finally, some rules! So, he has a range limit, right? Okay, here’s what we do!”

Kakyoin watched the dome warily, [Hierophant Green] at the ready. ‘ _They’re up to something. Like cornered rats, they’re more dangerous than ever._ ’

The dome collapsed into the floor, it occupants nowhere to be seen. A long ways down the hall, one of the little red creatures appeared an RPG-7 clutched in her hands and a toothy smile on he face. [Hierophant Green] launched itself forward as the rocket roared to life, streaking down the hall in an imperceptible fraction of a second. The Stand materialized well away from its user, the projectile impacting it square on its chest. The hallway was engulfed in a surge of heat and noise, smoke choking the narrow passage. [Hierophant Green] stood unharmed, hovering over the diminutive, grinning Impess, hands cupped together.

“Gotcha!”

Kakyoin’s eyes widened as the floor, wall and ceiling around him rippled and reassembled into the remaining Hellions. Moxxie and Gabriel appeared in front of him, assault rifles in hand, Michael exuded partially from the wall, his flamethrower primed and hissing, and Samael descended from the ceiling, a pealing warcry splitting the air as a fireman’s axe swung downward.

“BEEEHIIIIIIINND YOUUU!!” He roared, red axe-blade glinting in the fluorescent lights.

“Points for style, but you can’t think I’d fall for my own trick, can you?” Kakyoin smirked. “My Hierophant’s tendrils can make a net dozens of meters wide, in a space as narrow as this hallway, it’s denser than a bramble bush! And I can pick and choose when and if it fires!”

The axe lit up as it strained against a lattice of tendrils, each arching with energy, a keening whine filling the air.

Samael’s eyes went wide. “…Fuck.”

Dozens of simultaneous blasts of emeralds burst forth in a hurricane of death, disintegrating the attacking demon. Michael leveled the flamethrower at the teen, only to have a stray emerald shriek past and gouge his fuel tanks, sending a small blossom of flame issuing from the fissure. The flame traveled down the stream of pressurized fuel towards the tank. Michael turned to Moxxie and Gabriel, his eyes wide with fear. He closed his eyes and looked down the hall at Millie, his expression set and determined.

“Mikey!” Millie cried. “No!”

The Junior merged back into the wall, an instant later a rumbling, roaring explosion shook the compound, flame bursting from every vent and airway.

“How noble,” said Kakyoin, turning to the remaining Imp and Junior, their weapons leveled at him, their frames lit up with [Hierophant Green]’s flaring, straining tendrils, the fury blazing in their eyes telling him that they may just risk death if it meant killing him. “You may want to take a look behind you before you do anything rash.”

“M-Moxxie?” said Millie, confusion and fear clear in her voice.

Moxxie turned around to see Millie, one of the guards’ P90s in her hand, the muzzle of it tucked under her chin, one of [Hierophant Green]’s tendrils extruding from her arm. “Millie!”

“Drop your weapons, both of you,” Kakyoin ordered. “You won’t be able to kill me before she pulls that trigger.”

“Millie…” Moxxie muttered, throwing his weapon to the floor, defeated. “C’mon, Gabriel.”

“Moxxie, Gabriel!” Millie cried, defiant despite the weapon notched under her chin. “Don’t worry about me! Kill him!”

“I’m sorry, Millie, I can’t…” Moxxie turned back to glare at Kakyoin, hands raised. “You bastard!”

Kakyoin gestured around to the hall around them, [Hierophant Green]’s tentacles wrapping around and restraining them. “All these men you slaughtered like pigs had wives, children, families!

You think just because you beasts play at love you can understand the human heart? Monsters such as you deserve no pity, you deserve nothing but the pain you inflict on others! Now, reap what you sow, demon!”

Kakyoin spun them around and forced them to kneel. Millie pulled the P90 away from herself in a loose, marionette-like motion. She marched towards the helpless demons, resisting every step of the way. She stood over them, the submachine gun at leveled at Moxxie, who looked up at her with no fear, nothing but utter adoration in his eyes.

“Moxx! Please!” She pleaded, tears streaming down her face. “I’m sorry! I can’t control myself! I–I–I–”

“Shhh…” Moxxie murmured, eyes wet with tears. “I love you, Millie. Never, ever forget that. Of all the Imps in Hell~”

Millie’s trembling lips pulled into a smile, her voice catching with sobs. “I-it’s for him that I fell~”  


Moxxie closed his eyes, a serene smile on his face. “Oh, Millie…”

Polnareff ducked just in time to avoid a blade-tipped vine as it tore into the wall. Six more tentacles streaked after him, [Silver Chariot]’s blade sang as it intercepted them. Polnareff pulled his Stand back into him and manifested it within himself, leaping backwards with superhuman speed. The Frenchman slid across the floor and assumed a defensive posture. The abomination down the hall loosed a clotted laugh, its taloned fingers flexing, its many vine-like tentacles writhing in the air. Two sets of eyes, one red, the other blue, blazing underneath a wiry bramble of black and blonde hair.

‘ _Damn!_ ’ Polnareff summoned [Silver Chariot] and readied himself for the next assault. ‘ _He’s not any faster, but he seems to know what I’m going to do before I do it! It’s all I can do to stay in one piece!_ ’

“Our powers synchronized, we can match even the swift [Silver Chariot] blow for blow!” Truly Madly Deeply gurgled. “With Deeply’s speed and Truly’s precognition, we can attack where we know your defense is weakest! It’s only a matter of time before we gut you!”

The snarling mass of bloody roots and raw flesh loosed and inhuman roar and launched forward. Polnareff braced and the air in front of him became a storm of sparks and glinting metal. For every blow that was successfully parried, another three were sneaking into the opening in his defense. He was holding them off, but just barely, sweat forming on his brow. They were right, he could just barely defend himself, much less counterattack. It was only a matter of time until they landed a killing blow!

Polnareff leapt to the side of the demon and rolled across the floor, [Silver Chariot] guarding him as he did. The demon blocked the counter-slash and riposte and pursued, blades slashing where Polnareff was going to be and where is defenses were low. He swore and fell backward, rolling back and onto his hands, pushing off and landing some distance away, panting.

“Getting tired, human?” Truly Madly Deeply said, tromping towards the Frenchman. “Where’s all that smug bullshit now, huh?!”

They slashed the air with their talons, stealing the bonds between atoms in the atmosphere, free oxygen and hydrogen mixed and, excited by the friction-heat of their claws, ignited. A blast of heat and air knocked Polnareff backwards, he only just managed to keep his footing. The demonic duo burst through the wall of flame, eyes glowing red and blue. Polnareff cried out as the air between them once more became a flurry of sparks and steel. [Silver Chariot] deflected a slash that would have splayed his throat open, only to have the vine-like limb it was attached to streak past the Stand, catching Polnareff across the face. The human was sent reeling by the blow, slamming hard into the opposite wall. Truly Madly Deeply loomed over him, a crescent of yellow fangs visible through the briar of wiry hair. The Frenchman smiled back.

“Mon dieu…” Polnareff said, getting to his feet in a casual manner. “Guess I’ll have to get naked! How embarrassing!”

Truly Madly Deeply’s two sets of eyes exchanged questioning glances. “…You’ll what?”

[Silver Chariot] vanished in a cloud of steam, chunks of armor exploded outward. The composite demon flinched and leapt back just in time to avoid an impossibly fast slash. Polnareff and [Silver Chariot] strode out of the steam, the stand now thinner, almost skeletal in appearance. Polnareff was clapping.

“Oh ho ho ho!” The Frenchman cheered. “Congratulations, dear fellows! This is indeed a rare occasion! So few have managed to force [Silver Chariot]’s trump card, you should be proud of yourselves!”

“Weird flex, but okay,” Truly Madly Deeply shrugged and prepared to lunge at a grinning Polnareff.

“Ah ah ah!” Polnareff wagged his finger at them. “Forgetting something?”

[Silver Chariot] raised its rapier, skewered on the blade were a dozen scythe-like talons. Truly Madly Deeply gasped and looked at their tentacles, where the blades had been the vines now simply terminated, dripping tarry, sap-like blood.

“I-impossible!” They stammered, horrified. “How? We didn’t even notice!”

“That’s because without its armor, [Silver Chariot]’s speed has increased by an order of magnitude! Its speed and precision allow me to bend even light to my whim! Behold!”

Six more Stands materialized in mid-air, mirroring the original Chariot’s pose, their forms flickering and ephemeral.

Truly Madly Deeply growled and regenerated their vine-talons, lunging at the posing Frenchman. “Go as fast as you like! I can still predict your moves before you even make them!”

The merged demons slashed at the nearest Chariot, only for it to vanish, another moved in behind them and unleashed a furious barrage of stabs and slashes. Their vines doubled back and attempted to parry the attack, but yet another Chariot appeared and severed the deadly tips. Two more appeared in front of them and sent them flying with a simultaneous barrage of slashes and stabs. Truly Madly Deeply sailed through the air before being swatted out of their trajectory by another Chariot, sending them smashing into the wall. Truly Madly Deeply groaned and stirred from the floor, they looked down and gasped at the bleeding stump that used to be their arm.

“You played your hand too soon,” said Polnareff, standing over them. “Your powers are formidable, and if you’d used them wisely I would have been in real trouble. But you were overconfident, attacking me head-on after [Silver Chariot] had shed its armor; it doesn’t matter if you know what I’m going to do if I’m moving too fast for you to do anything about it!”

Truly Madly Deeply snarled and clutched their stump, vile black blood oozing through their fingers.

Polnareff pointed down at them and sighed. “As opponents go, I’ve had worse, far worse. As a Frenchman, I can see the love you have for one another reflected in your eyes. It’s true, you’re irredeemable monsters, both of you, but don’t think I won’t give credit where it’s due! Now, by my hand I shall send you both back to Hell! Together! [Silver Chariot]!”

Truly Madly Deeply squeezed their eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable evisceration. “I love you, babe.”

“I love you too.”

“AH HA HA HA!” Blackbird cackled as his suits closed in on the mystic. “Nowhere to run, Avdol!”

“No reason to, either!” Avdol smirked and evaporated an icy blade as it suddenly appeared mere feet from his head.

The suits rushed in, one delivering a blisteringly fast roundhouse kick as another formed a rapier out of ice and slashed at his throat. The other four held back and fired dozens of needle-like spears. Avdol’s expertly wove around the attacks, [Magician’s Red] vaporizing the hail of icicles with a wall of flame. Avdol parried a slash from the sword-wielding suit, he summoned a ball of flame in the palm of his hand and ducked as a haymaker from the other suit went over his head. He grabbed the suit’s wrist and pressed the glowing ball of flame into its chest as he used its momentum against it, pulling it into a shoulder throw. The suit flew through the air, smashing into the other, sending them both crashing into the opposite wall. Avdol snapped his fingers and the ball of flame exploded, engulfing both in a roaring inferno. [Magician’s Red] took its place at Advol’s side as he strode forward.

“I hope you can do better than that!” Blackbird sneered, effortlessly reforming two more suits further down the hall. “Your flames cannot match my cold! The second you strike one down, it rises again!”

A sphere of glimmering ice-knives flickered into existence around the Egyptian Mystic. “Also, I can freeze light, in case you forgot!”

The dome of blades converged on him, whistling through the air. The air between them and Avdol rippled and danced with heat, the knives vaporized as the wave of thermal energy pushed out, turning them to clouds of vapor in an instant, dispersed throughout the hall, freezing into floating clouds of ice particles an instant later.

“You may be able to freeze water, air, and even light itself, but my flames burn hot with my own resolve! No foul beast of the underworld can ever hope to douse them!” Avdol summoned [Magician’s Red] and started forward once more. “Do your worst, demon!”

“My worst?” Blackbird sneered, his huge face looming over the fearless mortal. “Very well. I was trying to give you a fighting chance, an opportunity to die on your feet, fighting! But if you want my worst, well…”

The six cryosuits shimmered as light was devoured by the ultra-cold gasses around them, eventually vanishing completely. Avdol’s eyes darted about, scanning for any sign of the invisible assailants. A ripple in the air behind him caused him to spin about, [Magician’s Red] blocking a punch at the last second and bisected the suit with a blazing kick. Acting on some unknowable instinct, Avdol leapt into the air just as another suit appeared and attempted to sweep his legs. Burning ankhs flared to life and shattered the empty suit. Avdol’s feet hadn’t so much as touched the floor when two more suits appeared, one with an ice-sword, the other with a spear. Avdol wove away from the spear-thrust and caught the sword mid-slash with his palms. He snapped the blade and, turning it into steam in an instant, fired a concentrated jet of superheated steam through its chest, the sudden temperature differential causing it to shatter like a Rupert’s drop. Avdol met another spear-thrust with an open palm, the heat radiating from it vaporizing the tip and shaft before gripping the remainder, holding the suit fast for a brief moment. [Magician’s Red] wove around the suit and, with a mighty screech, punched its fist through the suit’s chest, burning it to nothing from the inside out. Avdol turned to the floating gaseous demon taking up much of the hall, when he felt a sharp icy pain flare in his foot. He looked down to see the torso of one of the stricken suits had plunged a stiletto into his foot, which was rapidly crusting over with ice. One of the remaining suits shed its invisibility and rushed forward, grabbing Avdol by the forearm, its icy talons digging into his flesh, ice encasing his arm to the elbow. He could feel the ice as it worked its way through his veins, suffusing itself in his flesh.

Avdol struggled in vain against the immovable ice. “[Magician’s Red]!”

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you!” Blackbird called out. “You can feel it, can’t you? The ice is inside you now! Imbuing itself into your flesh and bone. If you try to melt it, Stand flames or no, the expanding steam will rupture every capillary, every vein and artery will burst. You’d bleed out in minutes if you don’t die of thermal shock first!”

Avdol grit his teeth as he felt the icy tendrils within working their way through his arteries, freezing the blood solid.

Blackbird grinned contemptuously. “Now it’s just a question of which will reach your heart first and freeze it solid! The arm is closer, but the femoral artery is much larger! It’s anyone’s guess!”

Avdol stopped struggling and began to chuckle. Soon his chuckles became outright laughter, deep and sonorous with delight. Blackbird recoiled at the genuine, joyous sound; had he gone mad with fear and pain? No… no, he was up to something!

“What… what are you doing?” Blackbird cried out, unnerved. “Why are you laughing?! Stop!!”

“You still haven’t figured it out, have you?” Avdol snickered. “All this time you’ve been hurling ice at me! Your suits, your weapons, all ice!”

“Yes?” Blackbird ventured. “And…?”

Avdol rolled his eyes, nodding to one of the ruptured frozen pipes. “Where did the water for your ice come from?”

“From the…” His eyes snapped open wide. “…Pipes.”

“Tsk tsk!” Avdol wagged his finger, smirking. “You’ve been throwing ice, and I’ve been making into steam and you turn it right back into ice, ice which now hangs in the air, in you!”  
Blackbird looked around, red eyes wide; sure enough, the air, suffused with his cryogenic demonic essence, was imbued with tiny glittering particles of ice, of frozen holy water!

“Remember what I said before?” Avdol pointed to the fearful demon. “Ice has gas-pockets in which [Magician’s Red] can manifest its flames! Turning ice…”

The tiny, floating shards of ice flickered and exploded into tiny pinpoints of flame.

“Into water!”

Blackbird screamed as the holy water, now liquid once more, reacted with his demonic essence, burning and sizzling, flashing as it purified his hellish energies. The air was alight with sparks and flashes, the hiss of steam and shrieks of pain from the agonized demon filled the hall. One by one the suits crumbled and evaporated into nothing, the ice that had invaded his body turned harmlessly back into water. Avdol rolled out his wrist and started forward. On the ground was the diminished, flickering form of the ice-demon, wispy thin essence waned and steamed as the destructive holy energies routed his hellish essence. The gaseous form, vaguely cat-like in shape, glared up at Avdol, his expression a mixture of rage, terror, and agony.

“Now, demon, in the name of Allah,” said Avdol, extending his index and pinky finger on both hands, bright balls of white-hot flame appearing between them. “I cast thee out!”  
Blackbird squeezed his eyes shut and awaited the final blow.

  


Joseph panted as he ran down the interminable hallways, footsteps echoing in the empty, eerie facility. He kept on running, for every report of his footsteps drowned out the unmistakable thud of over a thousand pounds of enraged demon-bird shrieking for his blood.

‘ _Damn!_ ’ Joseph thought, pulling into an adjoining hallway, pressing his back against the wall, panting. ‘ _This is bad! From the look of it, that thing has the Hamon-resistance of a Pillar Man. If I fight him face-to-face, he’ll tear me apart. Shit! Why’d I let my Hamon training slip so much?!_ ’

The huge, thudding footsteps drew ever closer, the unceasing stream of profanities and growled promises of gruesome death growing louder and louder. He looked down the hallway and saw a door. As quickly and quietly as he could, he made his way to the door and jostled the handle. The door opened with a muted creak. 

Joseph gasped at what he saw. “What the hell?!”

Through the door was the same atrium he had first been in, littered with debris and reflective metal discs scattered everywhere, there were even signs of the ongoing battle between the other Crusaders and the demons: it was the exact same room!

Joseph tapped his chin, deep in thought. “But how?”

A scream snapped him out of his contemplation, a shrill, human scream. Joseph spun around to see a man in a security guard’s uniform skid around the corner, his face pale and his eyes wide with terror. “Oh, Jesus, help me! It’s right behind me!”

A screeching roar split the air, the concussive thuds of Thriller’s steps like rolling thunder.

Joseph slammed the door shut and gestured at it. “Here! Quick, open it!”

The guard, too terrified to ask questions, did so. Not a second later and the massive demon turned the corner. His purple, furious eyes locked onto them, beak creaking as it curled back, revealing row after row of sharp, serrated teeth. “Found you, Old Man!”

The guard squealed in horror and whipped the door open, Joseph grabbed the door to stop him from slamming it shut in his panic and ducked in as quickly as he could. Thriller bridged the span of the hall in less than a second, his huge black bulk taking up the entire hall as Joseph slammed it shut just in time. He stood in a completely different room, panting, noting that the door didn’t buckle or bend like the last one did. In fact, there was no sign that Thriller was even on the other side. Taking a deep breath, Joseph opened the door a crack, fully expecting to see the fiend’s glowing purple eyes glaring back at him. But no, instead he saw an entirely different hallway from the one he’d just been in. Joseph turned around and examined the room he now found himself in; just as he thought, it wasn’t the atrium, it appeared to be some kind of locker room.

“Interesting,” Joseph muttered, looking down at the panting, panicking man on the floor. “You. Where are we?”

“I-in the main locker room for Perimeter-C,” he muttered, face wan and waxy with shock. “It doesn’t make any sense! Every time I open a door, it takes me back here… except when it doesn’t! This is so fuckin’ nuts!”

Joseph walked over to another door on the far side of the room and opened it; sure enough, the embattled atrium was on the other side. He turned back to the guard, helping him to his feet. “Tell me everything that’s happened to you so far.”

Once the guard had recounted his tale he seemed calmer, more collected. “And I’ve been wandering around ever since. The demons… they took my body! Who knows what they’ve been doing with it!”

Joseph ponder this for a moment before snapping his fingers. “I think I got it! This world reflects everywhere the demon’s been. It’s all recreated from his memory. That’s why we get sent back! Every time we open a door he hasn’t been through, we get sent back to our entry point. For you, it’s this locker-room, for me it’s the atrium!”

“So, what does that mean for us?” The Guard asked, rubbing the back his neck. 

“Not much…” Joseph muttered. “Just that we can give him the slip, but that just delays things…”

Joseph rubbed his chin in thought. “Hmmm…”

“What is it?” The Guard asked. “What are you doing?”

“Humor me a second,” said Joseph, reaching for one of the unlocked lockers, opening it.

As expected, the locker opened to reveal the atrium. “So, it’s not just doors, but anything that opens…”

“So? What’s it matter if–”

A huge, dark shape blocked out the view, a pair of hateful, glowing purple eyes floated in the darkness. “Found you!”

The Guard and Joseph leapt back with a cry as a massive feathery arm burst through the lack, warping the flimsy metal with a grating shriek. The huge taloned hand whipped about, snatching and slashing at the air. “Ah HA! So, you’ve figured it out! The doorways–”

“We know! They only go places you’ve been before!” Joseph inhaled loudly, generating a charge of Hamon. “This mirror world is essentially a map of where you’ve gone in the real world!”

“Uh.” Thriller paused, clearing his throat and laughing boisterously. “H-ha ha! Yes! You truly live up to your reputation, Mr. Joestar!”

Joseph raised an eyebrow. “…You had no idea, did you?”

“Shut up!” Thriller growled. “Now I know! It’s only a matter of time until I find you!”

“We’re in the locker room, you brainless feathery asshole! Come and get us!” Joseph kicked the locker shut on him. “Hamon Overdrive!”

The metal sparked and glowed as Hamon surged through it and into the demon’s arm, eliciting a pained bellow from the increasingly enraged tengu as he yanked his arm back. “Sunnovabitch! I’m comin’ right down there and I’m gonna–!”

Joseph kicked the door shut, closing the loop. “Well, that pissed him off.”

“Yeah! No shit!” The Guard said, clutching his head in his hands. “Now he’s gonna take his time ripping us apart with his bare hands!”

Joseph didn’t respond, he simply pressed his ear against the door.

“What are you–?!”

“Shh!” Joseph pushed away from the wall. “Okay, I’m pretty sure he’s coming. Between the two of us, I think we can keep ahead of him!”

“Until we wear out and he catches us!” The Guard wailed. “He’s a demon, and a pretty powerful one from the look of it! You don’t know these things like I do; they don’t get tired, they don’t stop, and they’re mean as, well, Hell! All you’ve done is guarantee he’ll take as long as possible killing us both!”

“You know a lot about these thing, huh?” Joseph pointed to the pistol bouncing on his hip. “Will that hurt it?”

“Yeah, all the weapons in here are warded cold iron, and the pipes are all full of holy water,” the Guard said, tossing Joseph a magazine, he popped out a round and examined it; the bullet was black iron inscribed with arcane symbols etched right into the metal. “But the water’s all frozen solid!”

Joseph handed the magazine back. “But these’ll kill him, right?”

“They disrupt demonic energy, meaning any wound to their bodies won’t regenerate–what are we talking about?! That thing’s huge! Those little nines may as well be BBs! We’re gonna die!”

Joseph lunged across the locker room and grabbed the Guard by the collar, hauling him clear off his feet.

“Of course we’re going to die!” Joseph growled, staring into the terrified man’s eyes before smirking. “In twenty years, surrounded by our friends and family! What’s your name, son?”

“G-George,” he stammered. “M-my name’s George.”

“Joseph Joestar at your service! My friends call me JoJo!” Joseph smirked. “My father’s name was George. Well, George, we’re gonna survive this. Say it!”

“We’re gonna survive?”

“Again!”

“We’re gonna survive.”

“Once more with feeling!”

“We’re gonna survive! Yeah!”

“Good lad!” Joseph slammed his fist into a locker, causing it to swing open. “Let’s go!”

He tossed George though the locker just as the low, thundering footfalls of the enraged demon drew near. Joseph calmly followed after just before the massive tengu smashed the door to splinters. Joseph closed the door behind him and dusted himself off, offering his hand to George and helping him to his feet.

“There, see?” Joseph said, gesturing to the atrium. “When I open an unknown door, it sends me back here, when you do it, it sends you to the locker room. Between the two of us, we can keep our distance from that bird-brain while I figure out a way to kill him.”

“You make it sound so easy!” George said, yelping and leaping backwards as a huge crater smashed into a nearby wall. “What the hell was that?!”

“Oh, that’s probably my grandson,” Joseph muttered, still in thought. “Whatever they do out there gets reflected in here.”

“You just take all this bullshit in stride, don’t you JoJo?”

“In my experience dwelling on it doesn’t help!” He tapped his chin and pondered for a moment, before snapping his fingers. “Aha! George, hand me one of those bullets, will you?”

George nodded and ejected a round from one of his spare magazines. Joseph examined the bullet and smiled. “Look! Hollow points! We can fill this reservoir up with a small amount of oil, I charge it with Hamon, and then when we shoot Thriller, the Hamon will melt him from the inside out!”

“You think that’ll work?” George said, a hopeful lilt in his voice.

“Of course it will!” Joseph opened a panel on his prosthetic hand and pointed to a small capsule. “Here, the hydraulic oil in my prosthetic hand is an excellent Hamon conductor. All we need to do is find something to cap it with. Aluminum foil or wax or something…”

George snapped his fingers. “My lunch! Back in the locker room, I have a sandwich wrapped in foil!”

“We’ll head back to the locker room, get that foil, make the magic bullets, then it’s time for a turkey-shoot! Got it?”

George smiled and drew his pistol. “Got it!”

Joseph turned to the massive demonic raven squatting behind them. “Got it?”

Thriller nodded. “Got it.”

“Great! Now, let’s–HOLY SHIT!”

Thriller moved with inhuman speed, snatching the pistol from George’s hands and sending him flying through the air with a swipe of his arm. The other hand wrapped around Joseph’s neck and hoisted him clear off the ground. Thriller chuckled and crushed the pistol in his gasp, the metal groaning and squealing as it warped under the immense pressure. He tossed the twisted lump of metal away.

“You’re pretty clever, I’ll give you that,” said Thriller, glaring at his squirming prey. “If I’d given you any more time, you’d have been a real pain in my ass. But then I figured it out! This is my world! My reflected reality! I can go through any door and come out anywhere I choose! You have your tricks and your fancy kung-fu, but I’m the master of this realm! What can you possibly hope to do now?!”

Joseph held up the warded, cold-iron bullet. “Improvise.”

His fingers crackled with Hamon and the bullet went off with a resounding ‘crack’. Thriller recoiled and stumbled back, a spurt black blood and glowing purple slime burst out from his eye-socket. Thriller roared in pain, horror, and rage, tossing Joseph aside as both his hands shot to his face. Joseph was sailing through the air, he pulled himself into a front flip and smirked as both his feet set down on the ground. ‘ _And he sticks the landing!_ ’

Joseph’s feet set down on a puddle of slivery, viscous liquid and immediately slipped out from under him. “SHIIIIIT!”

Joseph fell face-down into the mysterious slimy substance, coating his face and upper-body in the stuff. Joseph groaned and shook his head, wiping his face and groaning in disgust and the sticky liquid. “What is this stuff?”

Rapidly oncoming footsteps drew his attention, Thriller charged across the room, remaining eye blazing with hatred as his talons flexed and clenched. He roared and leapt into the air, streaking down like a great and terrible raptor.

“This ends here!” Thriller bellowed.

Joseph got to his feet, his tall, muscular frame glowing from within as energy arched and sparked about him. “ _Khoooooo~_ ”

[“REBUFF OVERDRIVE!”](https://youtu.be/XneukMwAGL8?t=59) Joseph roared, leaping up to meet the massive demon in the air.

Joseph wove between Thriller’s extended arms and smashed his elbows, glowing and sparking with Hamon, into the tengu’s muscular chest. A huge flash of light and heat engulfed Thriller, sending him sprawling backward. Thriller groaned and sat up, hissing in pain as he pawed at the swathe of raw burnt flesh covering his chest.

“W-what?”

“Oh! My! God! Well, would you look at that!” A exuberant young voice said. “Looks like you demons are good for something after all!”

Thriller looked up to see a tall, well-built young man standing over him, clothes stretched tight over his now much more muscular form. “Who… Joseph?!”

Joseph smiled handsomely and jabbed a thumb at himself. “That’s right! If I had to guess, I’d say this is your disgusting friend with all the eyes’ doing! He can produce a gas that can age people, right? So it stands to reason a fluid that de-ages people would be his doing as well!”

“This just isn’t my day…” Thriller muttered.

“Back in my prime, full of piss and vinegar!” Joseph looked himself over, sneering in disgust. “Ugh, how did I ever think this Indiana Jones get-up looked good? Ah, whatever! Time to end this! Hamon Overdrive!”

Joseph’s fist glowed as the Hamon surged, the shrill, harmonic keening of the energy echoed off the walls. Thriller grit his teeth and jerked his head to one side, a spurt of vile ichor issuing from his eyesocket and splattering across Joseph’s eyes. He recoiled and leapt into a series of backflips, away from a predicted follow-up strike. Joseph exhaled and Hamon crackled around his eyes, evaporating the blood. When his vision cleared he saw Thriller standing in the center of the room, in his hands was the comparatively tiny George, his eyes huge and white in his pale face.

“Ah-ah-ah~” Thriller trilled, jostling the terrified human. “No sudden moves! I’m a touch twitchy, and any shock might just make me… tear this little fuck in half like a phonebook!”

Joseph looked down at his prosthetic hand, the fingers twitched slightly towards the hulking demon. He smirked and clenched them into a fist, the metal hand glowed and keened with Hamon and Joseph pointed an accusatory finger at Thriller. “I’ve had just about enough of you! You and your Hell-spawn buddies! My daughter wastes away while I’m stuck here, playing at pest-control. Well, as much fun as it would be to pluck you raw and cook you up, I’m in a bit of a hurry! Hamon Overdrive!”

Joseph’s hand launched from his wrist in a burst of light and sound, the metallic hand buzzed and arced with energy as it streaked through the air.

Thriller scoffed and leaned out of the way as the hand went soaring over his shoulder. “Pathetic! You think you could have hit me with that predictable attack! You’re like a lazy boss-fight in a shitty video-game, telegraphing your moves like that!”

“I wasn’t aiming for you!” Joseph smirked, tapping his temple. “Your magnetic boss in the real world, I could tell by the twitch of my metal fingers that he’s standing right behind you! The magnetic field will act more strongly on my Hamon-infused hand, and pull it in! But since he’s not actually here, the hand will overshoot, get magnetized, and come right back!”

Thriller gasped and spun around just in time to see the glowing, supercharged prosthetic racing back at him at even greater speed, the extended digits each a deadly spear-tip. The metal fingers punched into his neck, just above his collarbone, and discharged a massive surge of Hamon directly into the demon’s flesh. Thriller gurgled and sputtered as Hamon surged in glowing blossoms all over his body, his flesh bubbled and sizzled, evaporating into smoke and ash. He reached up to dislodge the hand, but his arm sloughed off at the shoulder, splattering on the ground in a smoldering puddle.

“I-I’m… melting!” Thriller gurgled, flesh sliding off his bones in wet sheets. “Not… like this… not again!”

The huge demon keeled over backwards, his body collapsing into a hissing, bubbling heap.

Joseph walked over and gathered his hand, grimacing at the slimy residue on the fingers. “Well, not my cleanest kill, but I’d say I get points for style.”

“J-JoJo?” George’s voice sounded from over his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

Joseph turned around to see George standing there, looking at his hands as he slowly faded away. “You said they took your body, right? The mirror-world is fading, so your soul must be heading back to your body!”

“R-really?” George said, eyes huge and hopeful. “You think so?”

‘I hope so!’ Joseph smiled and shot hims a thumbs-up. “I know so! Be safe, George!”

George muttered something as he faded away, Joseph shook his head and looked around as the mirror-world began to dispel, the forms of his opponents and team-mates slowly taking form.

Joseph inhaled and exhaled, feeling the warm, heady surge of Hamon pulse through him: back into the fray!

[Star Platinum] roared and swatted away a glowing bell and hurled another chunk of concrete. The demonic jester destroyed the projectile and swooped forward, seven more bells at the ready. Jotaro leapt high into the air, bouncing off a gantry and setting down a fair distance away.

‘This isn’t good,’ thought Jotaro, sweat beading on his forehead. ‘I can’t get close enough to land a decent punch. Shit, I lost concentration for a second. Where’d he go?’

Looked around, [Star Planinum]’s superlative vision unable to locate the demon. He noticed a shimmering in the air in front of him, translucent sphere roughly the size of a ping-pong ball, and another, and another. By the time he counted eight it was too late, the shimmers rippled and revealed the bells, surrounding him in a tight circle. He looked up to see the reappearing form of St. Anger levitating above him, a flat, hateful smile on his long face.

“You can’t escape,” St. Anger called down to him. “You’re a tough sunnovabitch, but you’re still just human. Try to jump, I’ll make a razor in your brain. You can try to defend yourself, but there’s no way you’re getting past them, not at this range.”

The bells began to spin, slowly at first, then faster, and faster, until they warped into blue-hot glowing discs of plasma, radiating punishing, unforgiving heat.

“Make your move, Jotaro,” St. Anger said, his tone cold as ice. “Better to go down swinging than to cook alive. Much more satisfying for me.”

“[Hermit Purple]!”

A glowing purple vine shot out and wrapped around his ankle. St. Anger spun around to see a robust young man in a very familiar get-up, Joseph Joestar’s Stand extending from his hands.

“What?!”

The handsome young man grinned maliciously. “Beep-beep, Angie!”

St. Anger’s eyes flashed red, lips parted in a furious snarl. “Don’t you dare call me thaAAAAAAAHH!”

St. Anger tensed as a powerful charge of yellow energy pulsed through the vines, wracking his body with agony. The glowing discs surrounding Jotaro stopped spinning and dropped out of the air with a series of musical ‘pings’. Joseph looped the vines around his foot and, securing his feet to the floor with Hamon, swung the paralyzed demon hard into the concrete floor, [Hermit Purple]’s vines wrapping around his prone form.

“Old Man?” Jotaro approached Joseph, uncharacteristically perplexed. “ What…?”

“Tripped in some demon snot, got younger,” said Joseph, smirking. “You know how it is.”

“Good grief.” Jotaro shook his head and turned to the bound St. Anger. “Now, where were we?”

Joseph shook his head and pointed across the room, to a scampering Iggy, who was closely pursued by Willin’, phasing through just about anything the dog was throwing at him. “Never mind Pennywise over here, I’ll take care of him! Go help Iggy!”

Jotaro shrugged and set off to the melee at a casual pace, waving over his shoulder at his youthful grandfather. “Whatever. Have fun with that, Gramps.”

“You’ll handle me?” St. Anger said, his tone icy. “ _You_ will handle _me?_ ”

Joseph chuckled and charged up a wave of Hamon, the painful life energy arced and crackled as it danced across St. Anger’s form. “Funny, your bird-brain buddy had the same attitude!”

St. Anger glared at Joseph and got to his feet, the Hamon wracking his body having seemingly no effect, he effortlessly snapped the vines wrapped about his body. Joseph grunted in surprise, leaping backwards out of his range. “H-hey!”

When the hellish jester spoke his voice was even, but every word and syllable sang with fury like high-tension power lines. “Tell me, where is Thriller?”

Joseph smirked and brandished his prosthetic hand. “I might have a little bit of him stuck in my joints! It’ll take a watchmaker sixty hours and an ultrasonic cleaner to get him out!”

St. Anger sighed heavily, closing his eyes. [“I see.”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1per_uJeby4)

When he opened them again, they were baleful pits of crimson ringed with circles of vantablack so dark it ate light. His face elongated, became angular, skeletal, as his body wrenched and sprouted outwards. His handsome, muscular frame elongated ghoulishly as the cement around him ruptured and cracked, the rebar within atomized and rendered into a whirling cloud of supercharged steel. Light broke apart upon contact with his impossibly strong magnetic field, splitting across the spectrum as writhing sheets of green and red and orange danced about his poles, a miniature aurora borealis. The already inhumanly tall demon now towered a full six feet over Joseph’s head.

“Heh-heh!” Joseph chuckled, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow. “Me and my big mouth.”

  
Iggy snorted and panted as he ran, looking back over his shoulder. “[Man! This guy’s gotten a lot more dangerous now that I can't beat the shit out of him!]”

[The Fool] swatted at the pursuing mouse-demon who, once again, effortlessly phased through it. 

Willin’ cackled and swiped at the dog, his talons missing it by a hair’s breadth. “Comin’ for ya, mutt!”

“[I fucking told you!]” Iggy snarled, turning about to face the hellion. “[I’m! PUREBRED!!]”

[The Fool] roared and smashed both its paws down on the rat, collapsing into a dense pile of sandstone, the concrete cracking and splitting under the immense pressure. Willin’ appeared right in front of Iggy, eyes glowing with hatred. Before Iggy could reconstitute his Stand, Willin’ grabbed him by the throat and hauled him into the air.

“Gotcha.”

Iggy wriggled in his grasp, eyes promising a thousand gruesome deaths, a million horrid tortures; the little dog was filled not with fear, but venom.

“Ha!” Willin’ barked, feeling the warm, fleshy windpipe between his talons. “You got sand, mutt! Most people’re pissing themselves and begging for their live by the time I get ahold of ‘em! They all die the same, so tell me: how do you want to bite it? Throat torn out? Brain turned into a singularity? Oh! I know; shrunk down and eaten by tardigrades! That one’s popular nowadays! So, what’ll it be, mutt? What’ll it be? Huh?! Where’s that smart mouth?! Waddaya say now?!”

“[Heh!]” Iggy writhed in his grasp, legs kicking uselessly as the tiny Boston Terrier resisted his otherworldly foe. “[Ora-ora.]”

Willin’ sneered and wound his hand back before he registered just what it was the dog had said; his eyes went wide and his smile vanished. “Oh, _fuck_.”

A hand settled on his shoulder, a purple hand with studded knuckles. He turned and looked over his shoulder, seeing the cold, righteous fury shining in Jotaro Kujo’s eyes, a sight most souls only ever saw _once_.

“Hey,” Jotaro grunted. “That’s my dog.”

“Is he?” Willin’ said, patting the terrier on the head, chuckling. “H-he’s a cutie! And what a rascal! Ha!”

“Put him down.”

“Okay.” 

Willin’ set the dog down on the ground, Iggy took a spot next to Jotaro, a smug, shit-eating grin on his face.

“Iggy,” said Jotaro, not taking his eyes off the demon. “Go help Gramps. That clown is no laughing matter.”

Iggy snorted and made it way to the center of the room with a causal, unhurried flair.

“Missed a helluva opportunity back there,” Jotaro growled.

Willin’ blinked. “Did I?”

“When I said ‘put him down’ I was kinda hoping for you to say something like ‘with pleasure’ or ‘if you insist’ and try to kill him. Y’know, give me a reason to beat your ass into pulp.”

Willin’ roared and slashed at Jotaro’s throat, his talons a blur, the air splitting as he broke the sound barrier. [Star Platinum] effortlessly blocked the strike, grabbing the demon’s wrist, talons bare millimeters from the young man’s throat. 

“That’ll do.”

Willin’ tried to shrink, but before the thought even finished crossing his mind [Star Platinum]’s fist smashed into the side of his face.

" ** _ORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORA!!_** " The powerful Stand roared and unleashed a one-handed barrage of fists upon the stunned, hapless demon. Willin’ dangled by his arm, jittering about as the punishment rained down on him, face and body smashed by blows that would have mutilated any other demon. [Star Platinum] hoisted the pulverized mouse off the ground by the wrist and flung him over its shoulder. Willin’ sailed through the air before smashing into the whirling maelstrom of white-hot steel and plasma encasing St. Anger. The demonic rodent burst into flame upon contact with the star-hot shell of death, his body spinning about as filaments of steel and super-heated gas barraged his form. He circled the sphere of death for a single rotation before being spat out, blackened and smoldering, smashing into the far wall at some respectable multiplicity of mach speed.

“Still alive?” Jataro watched the smoking remains.

Something twitched. “Urgh.”

“Good.” He turned to make his way towards the massive demon at the center of the room. “I’m not done with you.”

“…Guh…”

  
St. Anger watched as his team-mate smashed into the wall, now aware that he was completely surrounded. No matter; none of these mortals could hope to match his power now that he had unleashed his full demonic might. His sins in life had compounded upon his already formidable Stand, rendering him nigh unbeatable. If sheer power was the only deciding factor in Hell, he and his men would already be overlords, but upon the completion of this job they would have the necessary capital to make their mark. All that stood between him and his destiny were three mortals. Three slabs of meat to be rent asunder and burned to ash.

“Iggy!” Joseph cried, diving out of the path of a stream of iron plasma. “Any time you feel like it!”

Iggy grunted and summoned a vast quantity of sand, half of it intercepting a flare of star-hot gas, the other weaving itself into the demon’s sphere of influence.

“Well, you pissed him off!” [Star Platinum] roared and deflected a torrent of plasma, Jotaro sneered as he noticed his jacket beginning to catch aflame. “Any wise ideas or is that all you’re good for, Old Man?”

“I got a few tricks up my sleeve!” Joseph turned to St. Anger, grinning like a fool. “One last chance to surrender! If you beg, I might give you a break!”

“You will give nothing,” St. Anger said, his voice a hellish boom over the shriek of the maelstrom.

“Your next line is ‘ _your pathetic Hamon is nothing compared to my power_ ’!” Joseph snapped his fingers, pointing to the demonic clown. “Right?”

“Your pathetic Hamon is nothing compared to my power!” St. Anger blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“Look around you!” Joseph pointed to the bands of beige whirling about the sphere of metal and plasma. “That sand is charged with positive Hamon, weaving itself into your negatively charged energy field! Positive and negative, the perfect electrical conductor, and with you at the center, you idiot! You’ve made yourself into a giant solenoid! Hamon Sandstorm Overdrive!”

Joseph reached out with [Hermit Purple], a gigantic surge of Hamon arced into the sand, suffusing it and combining the massive static charge into it. St. Anger had no time to react before a tremendous bolt of Hamon struck him directly in the chest, flooding his body with life-force. He screamed as the Hamon arced and flashed about his grotesquely elongated body, great chucks of flesh were ripped away and evaporated. The magnetic field collapsed as St. Anger’s knees buckled, he collapsed into a smoldering, steaming heap.

“Huh, look at that,” said Joseph, awe clear in his voice. “He’s still alive! That much Hamon would have turned a Pillar Man into soup!”

St. Anger glared up at them, slowly reverting into his base form as his vast demonic essence waned. Jotaro and Iggy moved in, their Stands at the ready.

“Seems like your light show is what does these bastards in,” said Jotaro. “Finish the job. Iggy and I will cover you.”

“ _Khoooo~_ ” Joseph exhaled, Hamon pulsing and surging from within. “THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU!”

Jotaro locked him with an icy stare. “What.”

“Always wanted to say that.”  


Joseph wound up and prepared to strike, St. Anger closed his eyes and awaited his fate.

The button sprung back up with a dry, plastic ‘click’. “There. Done.”

“That’s it?” Blitzo looked around at all the impressive machinery. “They’re gone?”

“Yep!” The Scientist said, shrugging. “Back to their dimension.”

“Huh.”

The Scientist, not taking his eyes off the pistol the imp had leveled at his head. “What’s wrong?”

“I dunno,” Blitzo said, scratching his head with the barrel of the pistol. “I guess I just expected more drama? Like, all these fancy machines and there wasn’t any whirring or sparks or lightning. Not even an alarm or steam or whatever!”

“I can… make it spark?” He offered.

“No, no, moment’s passed…” Blitzo sighed and deflated, instantly re-inflating upon seeing a large cherry-red button under a glass box. “Ooh! What does this do?”

“No, don’t touch tha–”

Blitzo smashed the glass and pressed the button, tongue hanging out of his grinning mouth.

A klaxon blared as steam and sparks exuded from a nearby cylinder, the Scientist cried out in dismay as the green light on the capsule turned red.

“What have you done?!”

“I dunno, you’re the scientist.”

A reverberating boom echoed throughout the room, a huge dent bulged out of the steel casing for the capsule, and another, and another, until the entire side of the cylinder burst away, smashing into the far side of the room with enough force to shatter the console there. Inside the capsule, wreathed in steam and backlit by the red flashing alarm lights, was a demon. A rabbit-demon, he was tall, some eight feet at the top of his head, another two on top of that when counting his long, lapine ears. His fur was silver-white with streaks of pink running up his face, capping his shoulders. He stepped out of the capsule, sensors and suction cups popping off of him as he did. He glowered at the scientist, who squeaked and cowered away like a beaten dog. The muscular, naked demon made his way over to Blitzo, who was very obviously not looking at his face.

“Big…” Blitzo said, somewhat dazed-sounding, looking up only when the demon beckoned him to do so.

“You, Imp,” the rabbit-demon said, his voice sonorous and commanding. “Your name.”

“Uh…” Blitzo said, remembering himself. “Oh! Blitzo! The ‘O’ is silent! I’m the leader and founder of the Immediate Murder Professionals, or I.M.P. for short! What can I call you, stranger?”

The rabbit-demon smirked, crossing his muscular arms across his broad, powerful chest. “Danger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gawrsh, I sure do love an anti-climax. Now, you might say it's bold to introduce a new character in the second to last chapter, well, 'bold' may not be the exact word. 'Hack' and 'fraud' might be closer, and you'd be right!
> 
> Next chapter ought to be up 'soon', I promise this time


	8. Helluva Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this chapter includes a title drop. I'm sorry, I just couldn't help myself.

Chapter 8: Helluva Job

Moxxie opened his eyes; Millie stood over him, the modest barrel of the P90 a cannon's bore from this perspective. He looked past it and into her eyes, they were wide glistening with tears of anguish, but now a dawning confusion. He tried to move and, to his surprise, he could; the tendrils that bound him before had vanished. He shot to his feet and spun around, Noraki Kakyoin was gone. He turned to Millie, who tossed the P90 aside like was red hot. She locked eyes with him, sobs hitching in her throat as a huge relieved smile spread across her face. They rushed together, pulling each other into a tight embrace.

"I'm sorry!" Millie sobbed into his neck, her tears hot and wet on his skin. "I couldn't control myself!"

"Shhh. I know," Moxxie said, soothingly, a tear running down his cheek. "It's alright, honey. We're alright."

"Mom! Dad!" Gabriel cried, scooping the both of them off the feet, his embrace a bare notch below crushing. "We made it!"

Millie sniffed and smiled, returning the hug. "I'm proud of you, Gabe."

"But everyone else, the others," said Moxxie, worry creasing his brow. "That guy couldn't have been alone! We'll have to fortify this position until the Blitzo and the rest get back."

"If they get back," Gabriel muttered. "You guys collect weapons and ammo, I'll fortify the doors and set up some defenses."

Moxxie and Millie nodded and set off down the hall, only to be greeted with the 9mm bore of a service pistol. Standing before them was a guard, a harrowed and furious look on his face. The report of the pistol sounded like a howitzer in the narrow hallway. Gabriel grunted and toppled backwards, a smoking hole punched into the left side of his chest, foamy red blood welling up from within.

"Gabe!" Millie cried, setting off for the wounded Junior.

"Freeze! Don't move, bitch!" The guard, his name-tag read 'George', leveled the Glock at the pair. "Both of you! Hands up!"

Moxxie and Millie complied, exchanging worried glances.

"Ha! I admit, you guys caught us with our pants down, but we came through, see? Our outside help sure lived up to their rep! Me and one of 'em iced your feathery friend! The rest of you bastards are probably dead by now!"

Millie moved to draw her pistol, but the guard stepped back and leveled the Glock at her, eyes wild. "Ah! No one move! Today I've had my body hijacked, been trapped in a mirror, and chased by a crow the size of a fucking Kodiak! I am on the fucking edge, and I'm about to _snap_! Your weapons, drop 'em!"

Moxxie and Millie glanced at each other and tossed their guns to the ground.

"All of 'em! And get your hands up afterwards."

They sighed and shed a small arsenal of knives, shurikens, stilettos and garrottes; the guard laughed bitterly. "Fuckin' things! Kick 'em away and then get on your knees!"

They complied, hands raised and set behind their heads, slowly crouching down to the floor. He chuckled and cocked the hammer. "If I bag three of you things myself, they'll probably make me sergeant. A pay bump anyway!"

Moxxie looked over to Millie, who was looking at him. A warm smile passed between them, a loving understanding and acceptance: no matter what happened, they'd be together forever. They reached out and took each other's hand, closing their eyes

"Awww!" George sneered. "Enjoy your last seconds, love-birds!"

The pistol roared, three shots rang out in quick succession. The forth shot went wide and ricocheted off the ceiling. Moxxie and Millie opened their eyes to see George keeling over backwards, three bloody holes spread out over his torso and upper thigh.

"What the Hell?" Moxxie murmured.

Millie squinted and pointed to a thin, ephemeral strand of pink undulating in the air. "Look!"

Moxxie reached out and grabbed the filament, his keen eyes following it to the human's foot, where a shiny hook was phased into his ankle. "What… Good Vibrations!"

They spun around to see the grievously wounded demon on the floor, his head raised slightly, pained smile on his torn, bloody face. "Heh… I-I told you… I'd protect you…"

They rushed to him and gingerly rolled him over. His body was a bloody tatters, his left arm held on by mere strips of flesh, but he was still very much alive.

"Good Vibrations!" Millie said, looking him over. "Are you okay?"

He shot her an incredulous look before smiling. "You know, I've been better. How's Playlist?"

Moxxie examined the heap that remained of Playlist's body. "We're gonna need a mop and bucket."

A choked cry drew their attention, Gabriel writhed on the ground, clutching his chest. A squashed, black iron bullet wrapped in Good Vibration's pink angler popped out of the wound with a low, wet sucking sound. The bullet was cast aside, clattering on the ground.

"There," Good Vibrations sighed, Moxxie dutifully applying bandages to his many wounds. "The cold iron's out. He should be able to recover from that pretty soon."

"I just hope the others are doing alright…" said Millie, stroking Gabriel's forehead.

* * *

Blitzo watched as the large, naked rabbit-demon. He was looking himself over in the reflection of a computer screen, shuffling about the long blonde locks of hair atop his head, letting the curled edges flow over his shoulders. Once pleased with his appearance, Danger reached behind his back and produced a long, flowing cape bearing the colors of the Star Spangled Banner. He affixed the flag-cape to his neck and, in a single flourish of the cape, was completely dressed. He wore a blue one-sided button-up long-tailed coat with a white star across the chest, spiky gold epaulets, and a white cotton ruffle at his collar. His hands were shod in wrist-length red leather gloves with silver stars on the back. On his legs were well-fitted white breeches, his boots were knee-high red leather cavalry boots, polished to a glossy sheen, also with shiny silver stars capping the toes. At his hips were a pair of beautiful ivory-handled pistols, they looked proportional to his large frame, so they were likely heavy-bore, powerful weapons. He reached his hand under his cape and, once again seemingly from nowhere, produced a garish top-hat, done up in the colors of the stars and stripes. He placed the hat atop his head, his ears fitting through two holes in the rim, and turned around, smiling handsomely.

"Looking good, Danger!" Blitzo said, mimicking the flourish with which Danger had produced his clothes. "How'd you do all that?"

"In life I could travel to adjacent dimensions when between two surfaces," said Danger, strolling over to the comparatively tiny imp. "Upon my… damnation, I can now also teleport myself and anything I wish to any point I wish, but only when not directly observed."

Blitzo nodded, uncomprehending. "Aight."

Danger, sensing his confusion, decided to change the subject. "Blitzo, you saved me from that wretched device, I am in your debt. If there is anything I can do for you, name it."

"Hmmm…" Blitzo tapped his chin, snapping his fingers. "Oh! Yeah, hey, do you think you could explain just what the fuck is going on?"

Danger smiled and bowed. "But of course. Many years ago, I was powerful Overlord in Hell. Upon learning of the final location of the Saint's Corpse, I gathered a mighty army of elite demons to lay siege to the Vault and take back what is mine."

"Oh?" Blitzo said through a mouthful of popcorn, a bucket of which was inexplicably in his hands. "And how'd that go?"

"It…" Danger paused, not quite sure if his savior was being snide or stupid. "It… went poorly. I was captured and imprisoned, used by the humans to plunder the multiverse."

"'Kay," said Blitzo, wiping off his mouth. "Is that what this big gizmo does?"

"Presumably." Danger turned to the scientist, who squeaked and cowered. "The details are lost on me, though."

"T-the JC-1, the-the Body," the scientist stammered. "When submerged in liquefied demonic matter the resulting reaction, the energies being transmuted and the damned souls being destroyed, i-it produces tremendous amounts of energy. Using this machine, we've been able to channel this power into the demon–er–i-into L-Lord Danger here, allowing us to bridge not only dimensions, but time and space as well! We've been using it to acquire profitable technology and powerful occult artifacts."

"Huh," Blitzo grunted, up-ending the now-empty popcorn bucket before tossing it over his shoulder. "So that's why no-one ever comes back from this place? They all get ground up and smeared all over some holy guy's body to make a portal. Sounds gross."

"And extremely painful," Danger growled, glaring at the scientist. "Dozens, hundreds of times a day for _years_."

"Oh, I bet! Getting jolted with soul-juice all the time? Ouch!" Blitzo said, nodding. "Not to mention all those demons were your men, your soldiers. The grunts, sure, who cares? But the officers, the generals, they must have been your friends, or people you respected at least. All of 'em dead just to get some slick CEO a moldy old scroll or cool gadget to pawn. If I were you, I'd be a little pissed."

Danger stood very still, very silent, his muscular frame taut and ready, his aura writhing about him like Hell's own flames.

"But hey," Blitzo said, slapping him on the rump. "(Whoa, firm, wow) Some demons are just more forgiving than I am."

"Blitzo, my friend," Danger said, suddenly, a serene smile on his face. "Would you like to see a magic trick?"

"Yes!" Blitzo squealed happily, clapping his hands and hopping up and down. "Oh yes, yes, yes!"

Danger patted his gloves, showing the front and back of his hands, hiding nothing. With a showman's flourish, he draped his cape across his arm and threw it back, revealing the scientist. "My lovely assistant will be the focus today."

"Huh?"

"Hocus pocus, abracadabra," said Danger, drawing his cape over as to obscure the pudgy little man from view. "Clap three times, please."

Blitzo did and Danger swept the cape back; the scientist still stood where had been before, only now he was missing his skin. Raw red flesh shone in the florescent lights, his lidless eyes rolled about out as his toothy, lipless maw split open, unleashing a shrill pealing scream. The living corpses danced about, shrieking as raw nerves were exposed to air, the wet slaps of his agonized steps beat a frenetic tempo.

"Tadaaa~" Danger said, his voice suffused with cold, hateful satisfaction.

"Woo! Encore!" Blitzo cheer, clapping his hands. "Oh, that is hardcore! So cool!"  
Danger smiled and bowed deeply as the scientist continued to scream. Annoyed, Danger raised his cape once more. "Oh, quiet you. No-one likes a showboat."

The cape was thrown back, the scientist was gone, the room was quiet once more.

"That was awesome!" Blitzo cackled. "Where'd you send him?"

"The Dead Sea," Danger growled, straightening out his tunic. "Now tell me, my friend, what brings an Imp to the Vault?"

"Same as you," Blitzo said, blithely. "Gotta grab the corpse for some rich asshole."

"You…" Danger's voice went low, his eyes glowed. "You seek the Saint's Corpse?"

Blitzo smiled, his teeth not yet regrown. "Yep!"

Danger flicked his cape, producing a steel gurney. He removed the cape and set it on the table. In a flash, the cape was pilled away and upon the gurney sat a glass and steel capsule some six feet long, inside it was a small, desiccated corpse. The air around it curdled, became heavy, sour. Blitzo found it hard to look at for more than a few seconds, his eyes itched in a way that told him they might melt and run out his sockets like hot wax if he pushed his luck.

"Neat."

"It is yours," Danger said, folding his cape in half over his forearm. "I have no use for it."

"You sure, Danger?"

"It was my folly," he said, his eyes growing distant and sorrowful. "I received the Saint's blessing prior to my death, and yet I still lacked the righteousness to prevail." He reached out to touch the capsule, only for his hand to fade, becoming translucent and ephemeral. "The blessing soured, retracted, and now I cannot so much as be in its proximity lest my essence wane. My torment, the death of my people, all for naught. I was content to succumb to despair, but you saved me, Blitzo, and for that you have my eternal gratitude."

"Aww you!" Blitzo waved him off, blushing. "Well, if you ever need anyone dead, you just give me a call. Here, my card."

"I hardly need help with that. My enemies are as mayflies, extremely short-lived." Danger took the card and examined it, making it vanish with a flick of his wrist. "But… I'll give you a call. Good day, Blitzo."

Blitzo smiled and waved. "See you in Hell!"

Danger and unfurled the cape, slipping under it as it settled on the ground, vanishing completely.

"That dude had one sexy voice… and an enormous di–" Blitzo looked over at the security monitors, seeing the tattered but still-living remains of his fellow master assassins. "Oh shit, right! On my way, brothers!"

* * *

St. Anger grit his teeth as he willed himself to stand. His body was alight with pain, every beat of his heart sent new waves of agony surging through him. It was only his exceptional constitution and the sheer overwhelming might of his demonic essence that allowed him to expel the Hamon from his system. That, and he had managed to hastily create a metal framework around himself, conducting much of the Hamon away from his body and into the ground. The Crusaders had vanished, to where he did not know, nor did he particularly care so long as they were gone.

"Willin'," he croaked. "Status report."

"I feel like I just got pummeled by [Star Platinum]," Willin' groaned, stirring on the ground. "And thrown into a hurricane of razorblades and fire. How are you?"

"Aoxomoxoa?"

"I got squished," came a thick, clotted voice. "That's just about all there is to say on the matter."

"St. Anger?" Willin' said, shakily getting to his feet, looking exactly how he felt. "Is Thriller dead?"

St. Anger didn't answer.

"Shit…"

He slowly made his way over to Aoxomoxoa, whose shattered body lay in the nadir of a crater. Several of his eyes looked up at his boss. He stirred, channeling his demonic essence into himself, his bones popping back into place as his flesh knit together.

St. Anger helped him up, Willin' limped over and looked up at his commander. "So, what now?"

"We retrieve the corpse, complete the mission," said St. Anger. "Nothing's changed."

"We're pretty chewed up, but they can't have anything worse in there," Willin' said, turning to Aoxomoxoa. "You still got some juice left in you?"

"That mutt squeezed a lot of it out, but yes." He raised his tentacles, the tips exuding a viscous, silvery liquid. "I should have enough to get the job done."

St. Anger took a deep breath and set his hands on their shoulders. "What lies beyond that door is not merely another fight, but our destinies. When we return with the Corpse, we will take our rightful places as Overlords of Hell. Individually, we're powerful, but together we're a force like unto Satan himself. Are you with me?"

Willin' smiled and winked. "For now and for always, Boss."

"You've never let us down, sir," Aoxomoxoa said, pointing to the door. "Whatever these bastards have on the other side of that door, I'll face it happily with you by my side."

St. Anger gave a small, touched smile, despite the turn this job had taken all he felt was pride. "I will endeavor to be worthy of your trust. Every demon from every point in Pentagram City will know that it was La Squadra that not only breached the Vault, but stole the very body of Jes–"

"Hey guys, whatcha doin'?" Blitzo interrupted, grinning. "Havin' a little pep talk?"

"I thought you were dead," St. Anger said, his voice cold and flat. "Seems like I can't have anything today."

"Ha ha! Angie, you are a card!" Blitzo chuckled and punched him on the arm. "Naw! While you guys were locked in epic duels and such, I was just checking out the other room."

St. Anger blinked in surprise. "What did you find?"

"Buncha scientists, a few guards, a dimension-hopping demon named Danger." Blitzo shrugged and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Oh, and that."

The trio gasped in shock; laying on a gurney in a sophisticated-looking capsule of steel and glass, was the Saint's Corpse. St. Anger darted over to it, wincing as he felt its holy energy clash with his hellish essence. Aoxomoxoa studied it with quiet awe and Willin' signed the cross, swearing and wincing as the blessing burned him.

St. Anger looked between the grinning Imp and the corpse, bewildered. "…How?"

Blitzo polished his claws on his lapel, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. "Well, I walked in, killed all the guards and scientists except one. See, I was looking for pom-poms so I could cheer you guys on, and wanted to see if the scientist could find some for me. Long story short, all those scary magic guys got sent back to their dimension and the demon the humans were using to travel dimensions gave me the corpse! Never did find those pom-poms…"

"You… saved us?" St. Anger muttered, his eyes wide.

"Well yeah!" Blitzo said, reaching out and playfully punching his arm. "We killers gotta look out for each other, eh Angie?"

St. Anger was silent, astonishment and a small modicum of shame clear on his face.

Aoxomoxoa stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Uh, Boss? Want me to, uh, you know?"

"What?" St. Anger blinked, suddenly pulled back into the moment. "No. Not here. We must return as soon as possible."

St. Anger levitated the capsule off the gurney and they made their way to the door.

* * *

Moxxie and Millie crouched behind a barricade, a M2 machine gun aimed at the far door. On the other end of the hall was Good Vibrations and Gabriel, covering the other door. The Imps snapped to attention as the door opens with a hiss, holding fire when they saw three demons hobble through the door. Truly and Deeply held a barely cohesive Blackbird up, his arms draped over their shoulders.

"Are you being followed?" Moxxie called out to them as they approached.

"They're sending reinforcements," Truly said. "Guess they figured out their mercenaries fucked off!"

"I've blocked off the hallway with ice," Blackbird croaked. "It'll take them a few minutes to get through that, at least."

"You fellas fought some scary guys, too?" Millie said, looking over their wounds.

Deeply gestured to the bloody stump that used to be his left arm. "No, we cut ourselves _shaving_."

"Have you seen St. Anger and the others?" Truly said, setting Blackbird down next to Good Vibrations and Playlist's remains. "Or hear anything at all from then?"

Moxxie shook his head, examining them. "You guys look beat! Who did you fight?"

"Jean Pierre Polnareff," said Deeply, pointed at himself and Truly before nodding towards Blackbird. "He fought Muhammed Avdol."

"…Abdul…" Blackbird grumbled, barely conscious.

Deeply looked over at Good Vibrations, more bandage than demon, and Playlist, a head in chunky puddle. "You?"

"Noriaki Kakyoin," said Moxxie, shuddering. "It was like fighting a self-righteous claymore mine!"

"That leaves…" Truly said, eyes wide with horror. "Oh, shit…"

"Enough!" Deeply barked, flexing his talons. "Boss can handle anything!"

"But the others!" Truly moaned, eyes tearing up. "[The Fool]… [Star Platinum]… they won't stand a chance against them!"

"Look!" Millie cheered, grinning. "It's them!"

At the far end of the hall was a group of thoroughly battered but alive demons, an important-looking capsule in tow.

"They're alive!" Truly cheered.

"They look like shit," grumbled Deeply before relenting. "Fair enough, considering…"

"Big Bro made it!" Good Vibrations cheered as he lifted his head, brow creased with worry. "Where's Thriller?"

"Status!" St. Anger yelled, his voice strong.

A series of detonations shook the facility, followed shortly by the sound of commotion at either of the adjoining doors. "Deteriorating!"

"Make ready the portal!" St. Anger commanded. "Wounded first!"

La Squadra did not hesitate, gathering up their wounded and shuffling them into the utility closet, shoving them through the portal. Moxxie and Millie stayed behind, manning the machine gun nests as the rest of the group filed through the barricades and corpses. St. Anger stopped and, shoving the capsule through the portal, turned to the Imps.

"Go! I'll cover you!"

They exchanged baffled expressions before Blitzo raced by, grabbing them by the collars and hauling them into the closet.

St. Anger stood between the machine guns, seizing them with magnetism. Simultaneous breech charges shattered the blockades with deafening crack. He glanced over his shoulder to his team, they were still maneuvering the wounded through the portal. He grit his teeth and unleashed a hell of .50 calibre hell upon the mortals charging through the doors. Bullets whizzed through the air, stopping harmlessly within his magnetic barrier before firing back out with deadly speed. Rockets and grenades cracked about him, red-hot shrapnel slicing into his body as his frayed concentration faltered. He looked back over his shoulder to see Blitzo and his Imps charging forward, M60s in their hands. He smirked, bemused, as they began laying down covering fire.

"Get outta here, Brother!" Blitzo cried over the roar of his weapon. "We'll cover you!"

St. Anger smirked and shook his head, raising his hands. "I appreciate the sentiment."

The Imps cried out as they were levitated off the ground along with St. Anger. He sent the lot of them hurtling backwards into the utility closet and through the portal. The quartet burst through into I.M.P.'s office, the portal shut with a sizzling flash and they all thudded painfully to the floor. Moxxie and Millie sat up, patting their bodies down, taking full inventory of their limbs. Upon realizing that they were home, intact, and very much alive, they locked one another with shimmering, tearful gazes and raced into one another's arms, sobbing joyously. Moxxie didn't even complain when Blitzo scooped the both of them off their hooves in a crushing, loving bear-hug.

"W-we made it…" Willin' leapt into the air and roared. "HELL YEAH! FUCK YOU, VAULT! FUCK YOUR GUARDS AND FUCK YOUR REP! LA SQUADRA UP IN THIS BITCH!"

Truly and Deeply embraced, a tender kiss passed between them. "We made it, babe."

Good Vibrations looked up at Aoxomoxoa. "You look like shit."

Aoxomoxoa chuckled and offered a tentacle. "Likewise, bro."

"Hey!" Came a low, gurgling voice. "Junior! Junior, get off your lazy ass and help me!"

They looked down to see the cracked screen-face of Playlist glaring up at them, dragging himself along the floor with his tongue. "Any time you feel like it!"

Gabriel grumbled and shuffled over. "You called?"

"None of your idiot brothers survived, so I must be talking to you!" Playlist sneered. "Make me a body."

Gabriel sighed and reconstituted the floor into a mass of cubes, forming them into a robotic body. He picked Playlist up and fasted his head to its open neck. The demon fussed around for a bit, the body's legs and arms twitched, spasmed, then whirred to life.

"Much obliged," said Playlist, rising to his feet and turning to his fellow team mates, waving off Gabriel. "See, if I made some Juniors worth a damn, that brat never would have gotten within shouting distance!"

"I'll keep that in mind the next time we fight the Stardust Crusaders!" Good Vibrations chuckled, looking around. "Where's Thriller?"

St. Anger sighed and shook his head, his expression grave. "Gone. Joseph Joestar's Hamon saw to that."

A pall fell over the room, a somber silence as they honored the sacrifice of their fallen comrade for a second time.

Loona stifled a laugh, not looking up from her phone.

All eyes turned to the hellhound, the air turned hold and still.

"Something to say, dog?" St. Anger said, his words sang with gelid fury.

Loona looked up at him and smirked, knocking on her desk. "Come on. Get outta there."

"And I was just getting cozy…" A voice sighed as black, feathered reached up from under the desk, Thriller stood up and hopped over the desk, snapping his fingers at his stunned team. "Hey y'all! And here I thought you didn't care!"

"What was he doing under there?" Moxxie said, eyes narrowing.

"You sunnovabitch…" Willin' hissed under his breath.

"Thriller!" St. Anger stepped forward, looking over his subordinate, relief clear on his face. "But… the Hamon, your body… you died."

Thriller smirked, quietly touched at his stoic Boss's concern. "Well, where was I gonna go, Detroit?"

"I thought no-one ever returned from the Vault?" Aoxomoxoa said, turning to Truly and Deeply. "Survivors of raids never showed back up here, right?"

"We looked into claims and such," Truly said, tapping a root against his chin. "None of our leads panned out. We assumed that it had something to do with all the warding and spellery, keeping the souls in or something."

"Nope!" Blitzo chirped. "They're dead! See, there was this demon named Danger, and–"

"Danger?" Truly interjected. "Overlord Danger? Rabbit-demon? White? Fancy cape?"

"Flowing golden locks? Sweet bod? Sexy voice?" Blitzo said. "Huge cock?"

"Yeah!" Truly said. "That's Danger, alright!"

Deeply eyed up his lover for a moment. "…What."

"Overlord Danger was the first demon to organize an actual, concerted effort to not only raid the Vault, but acquire the Saint's Corpse as well. He took a thousand of his most powerful warriors and was never heard from again."

"Until now," said Blitzo, polishing his claws on his lapel. "I sprung the guy! See, after I sent all those Crusader guys back to their dimension, I saw that the humans were using the bodies of his army and whoever else they caught to super-charge his dimension-hopping… 'dimension-hopping' he's a _rabbit_! I just got that!"

"Blitzo, focus!"

"Right, so they mulched up them up while they were still alive and poured them all over Abner Cadaver over there and used the energy of a demon's soul being destroyed to amp-up his powers and nab nifty stuff from all across time and space!"

"D'you ever get the feeling that there's some bigger story at work here?" Millie said, turning to Moxxie. "Like, cosmic-level stuff?"

"This shit's way above our pay grade…" Moxxie rubbed his temples with his fingers, a tired look on his face. "Can this day just be over, please?"

"And he just… let you have it?" St. Anger said, astonished. "He just gave you the corpse?"

"He can't use it for reasons, and was really grateful to be out of that gadget the humans stuck him in," Blitzo shrugged. "I dunno, I just rolled with it."

"Changes nothing," St. Anger said, eyes darting about warily before turning back to Blitzo. "This concludes our business arrangement, I trust you found our work stimulating."

Blitzo nodded fervently, a bloody tooth popping out of his mouth, clattering on the floor. "Oh yes! Man! You guys really know how to bring it! It was my honor to work with you, put 'er there Brother!"

Blitzo's hand shot out and hung in the air, a gapped, expectant grin on his pummeled, swollen face.

St. Anger examined the hand before him, his expression flat. He reached out and grabbed the Imp's wrist and raised his arm high in victory, turning to his comrades. "Men, you all fought well today. You've struggled and bled for this victory and I'm proud to call you my brothers. But this Imp, this man here, saved all our lives. Without him, we would have failed, it's as simple as that. I want each of you to know and remember, deep in your hearts, that we owe this man our lives, and on my honor, your honor, the honor of La Squadra Esecuzioni itself, I will see that debt paid. Starting with this, what was promised." St. Anger handed him the check, the absurdly long string of zeros upon it reflected in

Blitzo's shimmering eyes. "Your pay. You earned it, Brother."

"Bruh-bruh-bruh?" Blitzo stammered, his voice thick as tears threatened.

"Don't cry, Blitzo."

The sobbing Imp lunged forward and wrapped his arms around the much taller demon's waist, pulling him into a tight hug. St. Anger withstood this, his expression flat and very, very tired. He looked over his shoulders to see his team mates grinning, stifling laughter, his eyes snapping open when he felt the Imp's hands creep up onto his buttocks.

"That's enough."

St. Anger magnetized the iron in Blitzo's blood and pushed him back, refraining from actually touching him. With a curt, respectful nod to Blitzo and his team, he made for the door. La Squadra followed shortly after.

"You did good, Blitzo-Kreig," Thriller said, shaking his hand before looking over to Loona, mouthing the words 'call me'.

Aoxomoxoa was next. "You may not act like it most of the time, but you've got that true gangster's spirit. Keep it up."

Willin' strode up, producing a pair of sunglasses and putting them on. "We'll always have the disco-ball, Boogie-Man." He nodded and Loona and blew her a kiss. "Maybe next time, darlin'."

Loona didn't look up from her phone. "Still short."

Playlist approached Moxxie and Millie, who were talking to Gabriel. "Imps. I stand by my original assessment, you two are truly exemplary. You may keep this Junior, if it is to your liking." He reached down and took Millie's hand, running a long, purple tongue across her knuckles. "Oh, yes… _perfect_."

Gabriel stepped forward and planted a solid kick to Playlist's mechanical chest, sending the leering demon flying out the window.

"If you hadn't, I would have," said Good Vibrations, approaching them with apprehension, wringing his hands. "It was my honor to work with you guys."

"Thanks for everything, Good Vibrations," said Moxxie, taking his hand in his. "We never would have made it without you."

"Really, we can't thank you enough." Millie reached up on her tippy toes to plant a delicate little kiss on his cheek. "Stick up for yourself more, okay?"

Good Vibrations sniffled and nodded, tears welling up in his eyes as he walked out the door.

Blackbird, Truly, and Deeply were last; Blackbird eyed up the Imps. "I had no significant interactions with any of you, so… goodbye."

"Ditto," said Deeply, waving as he strolled out of their office. "See ya."

"Boss is hard to impress, you should be flattered," Truly said, turning to Loona. "Call me, girlfriend!"

Loona looked up from her phone and waved, a small smile on her face. "You know it, T!"

The assassins left and something like normalcy returned to the office. Moxxie grumbled as he stowed his guns away, sorting through his various knives. Millie snuck up behind him and kissed him on his cheek.

"You did good out there, Moxx," she said, whispering into his ear. "I think a little reward is in order later tonight…"

Moxxie blushed and smiled back. "Hey, that reminds me. Just how much did we make on this job? I'd like to know how much to charge the next time I risk my life and soul on an impossible mission, becau–" Blitzo snuck in behind him and held up the check, Moxxie's eyes snapped open wide, his jaw slack. "–UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHH…"

Millie locked her eyes on the check and began to harmonize with her husband, it was entirely likely that no Imp in Hell ever held such a sum to their name before.

"God, will you two shut up?" Loona growled as she walked by. "Like dipshits in stere–" Her red eyes locked on the check, the number upon in. "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO…"

Blitzo smiled warmly and drew them all into a group hug. "Truly, it was a _Helluva Job_."

Their stunned droning immediately gave way to a cold, contemptuous silence.

Moxxie glared up at him. "I feel like I should punch you for that."

* * *

The limo ride was quiet, the team was exhausted, but exultant, the pain of their injuries washed away by a wave of triumph and fatigue. St. Anger would like for nothing more than to rest and heal, for the sooner they were back in fighting shape, the sooner they could go about their work of becoming the new power on the Hellscape. There was but one thing left to do.

"Stop here," he told the driver, turning to address his team. "Once we deliver the body the rest of the money is ours. If they were going to kill us and take the Corpse, now would be the time, so I want you all to be on guard."

A round of agreements sounded throughout the limo and St. Anger turned to Aoxomoxoa. "With me."

Inside the complex was as he remembered it, a far cry from the opulent fortresses this particular gang occupied before its leader was slain and the full might of Lucifer's forces scattered what remained. Still, they had capital and power enough to be a tremendous threat to any lone demon, no matter how powerful. St. Anger and Aoxomoxoa approached the control center and were greeted by the powerful, skull-faced general of the organization, Crossroads.

"That's it?" He said, his voice a hoarse, wondrous whisper.

St. Anger nodded, gesturing to it. "Feel free to check."

His hand reached out to touch the capsule, but he drew it away with a hiss of pain. He examined the burn on his hand and smiled. "You may enter."

They did and were approached by the two leaders of the remaining organization, the wispy demoness Boadicea and the tall, Hellish priest, Trouble.

Trouble approached them and, his arms outstretched, smiled. "I knew I could count on you, St. Anger. Truly, La Squadra lives up to its reputation. Exceeds it, even! I trust it wasn't too much of an ordeal?"

"The money," said St. Anger, flintily.

"Of course." Trouble gestured to Boadicea. "The bonds."

Reluctantly, she floated over to them, in her ephemeral hands was a large metal suitcase. She opened it to reveal countless stacks million dollar Hellnotes, the bearer bonds of Hell.

St. Anger levitated the suitcase out of her hands and turned to Aoxomoxoa. "You know what to do."

St. Anger opened the capsule, the purified air inside sparked and sizzled as it reacted with the defiled atmosphere of Hell. Aoxomoxoa's tentacles raised and, careful not to touch the corpse, applied generous amounts of the silvery secretions onto its desiccated body. The effect was instantaneous, old joints snapped and popped back into place, flesh engorged and swelled as long dried muscle and skin rehydrated, ancient veins filled once again with blood. Full, supple lips closed once more over teeth, the grim rictus of a corpse replaced with the serene, sleeping face of a young man. The corpse was now a body, not alive, but not dead either.

"Marvelous," Trouble said, something not unlike glee in his even toned voice. "Truly worth every penny."

St. Anger and Aoxomoxoa turned to leave when Trouble called out after them. "Aren't you the least bit curious what we plan to do with this?"

St. Anger looked around him, at the demons in the room, seeing the hidden but present desperation in their eyes, the fanaticism, the loyalty to a dead lord. "No. Whatever you're planning, keep us out of it. If you must call on us again, just know that our rates have increased substantially. If that will be all?"

Trouble nodded and gestured for the other demons to stand down. "It will."

"Good day."

With that they left. The limo sped off into the vast city, its occupants about to upset the local order of power in a bloody conquest worthy of its own tale. However, such a story would be made utterly banal for the seed of destruction they left in their wake. Something truly terrible was underway.

[THE END](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=73WTnRa0d6M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Well, that's another story off the table! Took an embarrassingly long time to finish for its length


End file.
